because of his capacity
or failure, but because he fitted or did not fit the inner politics of
the Office, the capture of honours by the stay-at-homes--all the little
miseries and horrors that from time immemorial have disfigured the
management of wars--they lay in the future. With millions of people, as
with this couple speeding among the uplands, the one thought was--the
great test is at hand.

"You go up to London to-night, and it may be a long while before we see
you," said Joan. She brought the car to a halt on the edge of Duncton
Hill. "Look for luck and for memory at the Weald of Sussex," she cried
with a little catch in her throat.

Fields and great trees, and here and there the white smoke of a passing
train and beyond the Blackdown and the misty slopes of Leith
Hill--Hillyard was never to forget it, neither that scene nor the eager
face and shining eyes of Joan Whitworth against the blue and gold of the
summer afternoon.

"You will remember that you have friends here, who will be glad to hear
news of you," she said, and she threw in the clutch and started the car
down the hill.

CHAPTER XI

STELLA RUNS TO EARTH

"You have been back in England long?" asked Stella Croyle.

"A little while," said Hillyard evasively.

It was the first week of September. But since his return from Rackham
Park to London his days had been passed in the examination of files of
documents; and what little time he had enjoyed free from that labour had
been given to quiet preparations for his departure.

"You might have come to see me," Stella Croyle suggested. "You knew that
I wished to see you."

"Yes, but I have been very busy," he answered. "I am going away."

Stella Croyle looked at him curiously.

"You too! You have joined up?"

Hillyard shook his head.

"No good," he answered. "I told you my lungs were my weak point. I am
turned down--and I am going abroad. It's not very pleasant to find
oneself staying on in London, going to a little dinner party here and
there where all the men are oldish, when all of one's friends have
gone."

Stella Croyle's face and voice softened.

"Yes. I can understand that," she said.

Hillyard watched her narrowly, but there was no doubt that she was
sincere. She had received him with an air of grievance, and a hard
accent in her voice. But she was entering now into a comprehension of
the regrets which must be troubling him.

"I am sorry," she continued. "I never cared ver