olour. The young man nodded towards them. 'I see you
have got the Degousses hung at last,' he said.

'How exquisite they are!' cried Miss Claire. 'How subtle and candid and
brave! Doria and I warm our souls at their flame.'

Some aromatic wood had been burned in the room, and there was a queer
sickly scent about. Everything in that place was strained and uneasy
and abnormal--the candle shades on the table, the mass of faked china
fruit in the centre dish, the gaudy hangings and the nightmarish walls.
But the food was magnificent. It was the best dinner I had eaten since
1914.

'Tell me, Mr Brand,' said Miss Doria, her long white face propped on a
much-beringed hand. 'You are one of us? You are in revolt against this
crazy war?'

'Why, yes,' I said, remembering my part. 'I think a little common-sense
would settle it right away.'

'With a little common-sense it would never have started,' said Mr Wake.

'Launcelot's a C.O., you know,' said Miss Doria.

I did not know, for he did not look any kind of soldier ... I was just
about to ask him what he commanded, when I remembered that the letters
stood also for 'Conscientious Objector,' and stopped in time.

At that moment someone slipped into the vacant seat on my right hand. I
turned and saw the V.A.D. girl who had brought tea to Blaikie that
afternoon at the hospital.

'He was exempted by his Department,' the lady went on, 'for he's a
Civil Servant, and so he never had a chance of testifying in court, but
no one has done better work for our cause. He is on the committee of
the L.D.A., and questions have been asked about him in Parliament.'

The man was not quite comfortable at this biography. He glanced
nervously at me and was going to begin some kind of explanation, when
Miss Doria cut him short. 'Remember our rule, Launcelot. No turgid war
controversy within these walls.'

I agreed with her. The war had seemed closely knit to the Summer
landscape for all its peace, and to the noble old chambers of the
Manor. But in that demented modish dining-room it was shriekingly
incongruous.

Then they spoke of other things. Mostly of pictures or common friends,
and a little of books. They paid no heed to me, which was fortunate,
for I know nothing about these matters and didn't understand half the
language. But once Miss Doria tried to bring me in. They were talking
about some Russian novel--a name like Leprous Souls--and she asked me
if I had read it. By a curious chan