ated by his wounds and general
state. But the condition is getting worse steadily. It is very sad, and
very touching. However, you will get it all out of Vincent. You must
have some dinner first. I wish you a good-night.'

And the good man, so stout and broad-shouldered that he seemed to be
bursting out of his khaki, hurried away. The lady seemed to him
curiously hard and silent--'a forbidding sort of party.' But then he
himself was a person of sentiment, expressing all the expected feelings
in the right places, and with perfect sincerity.

Bridget took her modest dinner, and then sat by the window, looking out
over a lonely expanse of sand, towards a moonlit sea. To right and left
were patches of pine wood, and odd little seaside villas, with fantastic
turrets and balconies. A few figures passed--nurses in white head
dresses, and men in khaki. Bridget understood after talking to the
little _patronne_, that the name of the place was Paris a la Mer, that
there was a famous golf course near, and that large building, with a
painted front to the right, was once the Casino, and now a hospital for
officers.

It was all like a stage scene, the sea, the queer little houses, the
moonlight, the passing figures. Only the lights were so few and dim, and
there was no music.

'Miss Cookson?'

Bridget turned, to see a tall young surgeon in khaki, tired, pale and
dusty, who looked at her with a frown of worry, a man evidently
over-driven, and with hardly any mind to give to this extra task that
had been put upon him.

'I'm sorry to be late--but we've had an awful rush to-day,' he said, as
he perfunctorily shook hands. 'There was some big fighting on the Somme,
the night before last, and the casualty trains have been coming in all
day. I'm only able to get away for five minutes.

'Well now, Miss Cookson'--he sat down opposite her, and tried to get his
thoughts into business shape--'first let me tell you it's a great
misfortune for you that Howson's had to go off. I know something about
the case--but not nearly as much as he knows. First of all--how old was
your brother-in-law?'

'About twenty-seven--I don't know precisely.'

'H'm. Well of course this man looks much older than that--but the
question is what's he been through? Was Lieutenant Sarratt fair or
dark?'

'Rather dark. He had brown hair.'

'Eyes?'

'I can't remember precisely,' said Bridget, after a moment. 'I don't
notice the colour of people's eyes. But I'm su