rebuked him; they made no more pother than if a
single letter had gone astray. The colonel motored daily into Winchester
and sat on his tribunal; Mrs. Waring presided over her bandaging
classes, and Agnes looked after the house. There was no fretting at Red
Roofs; the errant letter would come to hand--or it would not; the
Warings were a military family. Sharing their suspense for the first
time, Eric marvelled at their composure. His own heart quickened its
beat whenever he asked with false solicitude whether Agnes had tried to
get news through the American or Spanish Embassy, the Prisoners-of-War
Clearing-House in Copenhagen or the Vatican. Peace of mind returned a
step nearer each time that she shook her head and murmured, "Yes, we
tried that. It was no good, though." Then his growing security was
checked by a gripe of conscience; he felt like a murderer who stole
furtively into the woods by night to see whether prowling animal or
pursuing man had disturbed the grave. Well, at least another week had
passed. . . . But in a week's time he must undergo the suspense again.
Agnes might come to him, radiant as on that night when she dined with
him, crying "Eric! You remember that cheque? Well, we heard to-day. . . ."

Extravagant tension and violent relief destroyed the serenity required
for good work; but Eric was not dissatisfied with the progress of his
play. Ease and command had grown reassuringly; his psychology was surer,
perhaps because his own psychological experience had been so much
enriched; and his dialogue, losing nothing of its neatness and economy,
had taken on an added verisimilitude. It was too early to judge
dispassionately; but, as Eric made his last corrections and sent a copy
of the script to Manders, he felt a warmer glow of confidence than
either of his first plays had inspired.

It was the end of October before he had finished. The strain of work had
buoyed him up, but it was succeeded by a debilitating reaction, which
impelled him with guilty reluctance to Wimpole Street.

"I'm glad you don't even pretend that you've been following my advice,"
said the doctor with a hint of impatience, as he brought his examination
to an end.

"You know, Gaisford, it's not the least use telling me to do nothing,"
Eric answered jauntily. "I'm not built that way."

"So I've heard before--from others as well. And the others have found
themselves packed off to nursing-homes, which, my dear Eric, are very
tedious i