a musical laugh.

"Delightful," said a low, silvery voice; "quite delightful."

Vane swung round in time to catch the glint of a mocking smile--a pair
of lazy grey eyes--and then, before he could answer, or even make up
his mind if it had been he who was addressed, the girl who had spoken
moved past him and greeted Lady Patterdale. . . .

He waited just long enough to hear that worthy woman's, "My dear Joan,
'ow are you?" and then with a faintly amused smile on his lips turned
towards the cool, shady drive. Margaret's remark in the sand dunes at
Etaples anent leopards and their spots came back to him; and the
seasoned war horse scents the battle from afar. . . .

CHAPTER V

It was under the shade of a great rhododendron bush that Vane was first
privileged to meet Sir John. The bush was a blaze of scarlet and purple,
which showed up vividly against the green of the grass and the darker
green of the shrubs around. Through the trees could be seen glimpses of
the distant hills, and Vane, as he stumbled unexpectedly into this sudden
bit of fairyland, caught his breath with the glory of it. Then with
drastic suddenness he recalled that half-forgotten hymn of childhood, of
which the last line runs somewhat to the effect that "only man is vile."

Sir John was in full possession, with an unwilling audience of one bored
cavalryman. It was one of his most cherished sentiments that nothing
aided convalescence so much as a little bright, breezy conversation on
subjects of general interest--just to cheer 'em up, and make 'em feel at
home. . . .

At the moment of Vane's arrival he was discoursing fluently on the
problem of education. The point is really immaterial, as Sir John
discussed all problems with equal fluency, and the necessity for
answering was rare. He had a certain shrewd business-like efficiency,
and in most of his harangues there was a good deal of what, for want of a
better word, might be termed horse sense. But he was so completely
self-opinionated and sure of himself that he generally drove his audience
to thoughts of poisons that left no trace or even fire-arms. Especially
when he was holding forth on strategy. On that subject he considered
himself an expert, and regularly twice a week he emptied the smoking-room
at Rumfold by showing--with the aid of small flags--what he would have
done had he been in charge of the battle of the Somme in 1916. He was
only silenced once, and that was by a pes