nt Home the following year," said Daisy. "We thought--we hoped--it
would make our baby boy more robust to have a summer in England."

"Oh, have you a boy?" said Hunt-Goring, without much interest.

"He died," said Daisy briefly.

Hunt-Goring looked bored, and the conversation languished.

Into the silence came Peggy, fairy-footed, gay of mien. She flung
impulsive arms around her mother's neck and pressed a soft cheek
coaxingly to hers.

"Mummy, Noel is comin' to teach me to ride this morning. I may go,
mayn't I?"

"My darling!" said Daisy, in consternation. "He never said anything to
me about it."

Peggy laughed, nodding her fair head with saucy assurance. "He promised,
Mummy."

"But, dearie," protested Daisy, "you can't ride Noel's horse. You'd be
frightened, and so would Mummy."

Peggy laughed again, the triumphant laugh of one who possesses private
information. "Noel wouldn't let me be frightened," she said, with
confidence.

"Who is Noel?" asked Hunt-Goring.

Peggy looked at him. She was not quite sure that she liked this friend
of her mother's, and her look said as much. "Noel is an officer," she
said proudly. "He's the pwettiest officer in the Regiment, and I love
him."

"Ha!" Hunt-Goring laughed. "You inherit your mother's tastes, my child."
He looked across at Daisy. "She always preferred the pretty ones."

"I know better now," said Daisy, without returning his look.

He laughed again and stretched himself. "What became of that handsome
cousin of yours who paid you a visit in the old M'war days?"

"Do you mean Blake Grange?" Daisy's voice suddenly sounded so remote
and cold that Peggy turned and regarded her in round-eyed astonishment.

"Yes, that was the fellow. He got trapped at Wara along with General
Roscoe and Nick Ratcliffe. What happened to him? Was he killed?"

"No, not then." Slowly Daisy lifted her eyes; slowly she spoke. "He gave
his life in England the following year to save some shipwrecked
sailors."

"Did he, though? Quite a hero!" Hunt-Goring's eyes met hers and
insolently held them. "Were you present at the sacrifice?"

"Yes," she answered him briefly, but there was tragedy in her eyes.

"Ah!" said Hunt-Goring softly. "That made a difference to you."

She did not answer; she leaned her cheek against Peggy's fair head in
silence.

"My dear lady," said Hunt-Goring, "you always took things too
seriously."

She gave a brief sigh, and took up her work again. "Life is rath