had no fire to sit over, but all the same she dawdled throughout
her undressing and, unlike Reggie, wasted the precious electric light.
She had a great deal to think about, for Grantly and Reggie were not
the only people to confide in Mary that holiday. The day before he
left, General Grantly had taken her for a walk, sworn her to secrecy,
and then had sprung upon her a most astounding project. No other than
that he and Mrs Grantly should take her mother with them when they went
to the South of France for March--their mother without any of them.

"She has never had a real holiday by herself since she was married,"
the General said, "and my idea is that she should come with us directly
your father gets back. The boys will be at school--Grantly at the
Shop. There will only be the two little ones and your father to
consider, and you could look after them. I'd like to take you too, my
dear, but I don't fancy your mother could be persuaded to leave your
father unless there was someone to see to things for him."

"She'd never leave father alone," Mary said decidedly; "but she might,
oh, she might go now I'm really grown up. I should love her to go.
Don't you think"--Mary's voice was very wistful--"that she's been
looking a little tired lately . . . not quite so beautiful . . . as
usual?"

"Ah, you've noticed it too--that settles it--not a word, mind; if it's
sprung upon her at a few days' notice it may come off. If she has time
to think she'll discover insurmountable difficulties. Strategy, my
dear, strategy must be our watchword."

"But father," Mary suggested dubiously, "who's going to manage him?"

"I think," the General said grimly, "I think we may safely leave your
father in Grannie's hands. She has undertaken to square him, and, what
she undertakes--I have never known her fail to put through."

"It will be most extraordinary to have mother go off for quite a long
time by herself," Mary said thoughtfully.

"She won't be by herself, she'll be with _her_ father and mother; has
it never occurred to you as possible that sometimes we might like our
daughter to ourselves?"

Mary turned an astonished face towards her grandfather, exclaiming
emphatically,

"No, Ganpy, it certainly never has . . . before."

CHAPTER XVII

THE RAM-CORPS ANGEL

Grannie was writing letters. Grandfather had gone into London to the
War Office, and it was only ten o'clock. Grannie was safe for an hour
or two, for she wa