red if she could . . .

Through the woods rang the notes of a bugle. Ger was playing "Come to
the cook-house door." Mary's heart seemed to leap up and turn right
over.

"Come to the cook-house door" is not by any means one of the most
beautiful of the bugle sounds of the British Army. It is rather jerky
at the best of times, and as performed by Ger it was wheezy as well.
But for Mary just then it was a clear call to consciousness.

Pity and sympathy and admiration are not love: and Mary knew it, and in
that moment she became a woman.

Eloquent had taken her hand, taken it with a respect and gentleness
that affected her unspeakably. She gave a little sob. She did not try
to draw it away. "Oh dear," she sighed, "I am so sorry, for it's all
no use," and the tears ran down her cheeks.

Eloquent lifted her hand and kissed it.

"Don't cry, my dear," he said, "don't cry. I'm glad I've known you and
loved you. . . ."

Again through the woods there rang that "first call" so dear to the
heart of Ger.

"Good-bye, Mr Gallup, I mustn't stay . . . try to forgive me, and . . ."

"Forgive," Eloquent repeated scornfully, "what have I to forgive?
_That_ is for you."

Mary turned and walked swiftly away, and Eloquent watched her till she
was out of sight.

Parker kept close at her side, but every now and then he jumped up and
tried to lick her face. Parker knew all was not right with Mary and he
was uneasy.

Mary knew full well that it was to no comfortable cook-house door that
Ger had summoned her. That wheezy bugle called her to the outposts of
the world; to a life of incessant acerbating change, where there was no
certainty, no stability, no sweet home peace, or that proud fixity of
tenure that is the heritage of those who own the land on which they
live. She had no illusions. Not in vain had she lived with her
grandmother at Woolwich and heard the lamentations of the officers'
wives when plans were changed at the last moment, and the fair prospect
of a few years at home was blotted out by the inexorable orders for
foreign service. And the Sappers were worst of all, for except at a
very few stations they hadn't even a mess, and there was not the
friendly fellowship of "the Regiment" to count upon.

The yard was quite deserted, for the men had gone to dinner. She
paused at the gate and looked long and lovingly at the clustering
chimneys, and lichened, grey-green roofs she loved: and as she looked a
new sou