ck out of the sense of revelry which had
come upon him during his fight. He pushed his way through the crowd, and
climbed over the railings into the darkness of St. James's Park. It was
officially closed for the night, but Dick had no doubt that a small
bribe at the other side would let him out. The Queen and the little
Princes had joined the King on the balcony. Looking back he could see
them very faintly, the Prince was standing to the salute, the Queen was
waving her handkerchief.

His Club was crowded with men, all equally excited, all talking very
fast. Someone had just come back from the House. War was a dead
certainty now, mobilization had been ordered, the Fleet was ready.

"Our Army is the problem, there will have to be conscription," was the
general vote.

Dick stayed and talked with the rest of them till long after twelve.
Morning should see him offering his services to the War Office; if they
would not have him as a doctor he could always enlist. One thing was
certain, he must by hook or by crook be amongst the first to go.

"We will have to send an Expeditionary Force right now," the general
opinion had been, "if we are to do any good."

Dick thought vaguely of what it would all mean: the excitement, the
thrill, an army on the march, camp life, military discipline, and his
share of work in hospital. "Roll up your sleeves and get at them," his
South African friend had described it to him. "I can tell you, you don't
have much time to think when they are bringing in the wounded by the
hundred."

Not till just as he was turning into bed did he think again of Joan.
Such is the place which love takes in a man's thoughts when war is in
the balance. The knowledge of her deceit and his broken dream hurt him
less in proportion, for the time he had forgotten it. He had been brutal
to her, he realized; he had left her crouched up on the floor crying her
heart out. Why had she cried?--she had achieved her purpose, for she
could only have had one reason in asking the other man to meet him. He
could only suppose that he had frightened her by his evident bad temper,
and for that he was sorry. He was not angry with her any longer. She had
looked very beautiful in her clinging black dress, with the red rose
pinned in at her throat. And even the rose had been a gift from the
other man. Well, it was all ended; for two years he had dreamed about
love, for one hour he had known its bitterness. He would shut it
absolutely