n, beginning to enjoy a novel experience.

"Why doesn't he live here?" demanded Miss Brent.

"Who, Peter?"

Miss Brent nodded.

"No room. The soldiers, you know," he added.

"No room for her own son?" Miss Brent's tone was in itself an
accusation against Lady Meyfield of unnaturalness.

"Oh! Peter understands," was Elton's explanation.

"Oh!" Miss Brent looked sharply at him. For a minute there was
silence.

"You have been wounded?" Miss Brent indicated the blue band upon his
arm. Her question arose, not from any interest she felt; but she
required time in which to reorganise her attack.

"I am only waiting for my final medical board, as I hope," Elton
replied.

"You know Lady Tanagra?" Miss Brent was feeling some annoyance with
this extremely self-possessed young man.

"Yes," was Elton's reply. He wondered if the next question would deal
with her steadiness.

"I suppose you are a friend of the family?" was Miss Brent's next
question.

Elton bowed.

"Good afternoon, sir." The speaker was a soldier in hospital blue, a
rugged little man known among his fellows as "Uncle."

"Hullo! Uncle, how are you?" said Elton, shaking hands.

Miss Brent noticed a warmth in Elton's tone that was in marked contrast
to the even tone of courtesy with which he had answered her questions.

"Oh, just 'oppin' on to 'eaven, sir," replied Uncle. "Sort of sittin'
up an' takin' notice."

Elton introduced Uncle to Miss Brent, an act that seemed to her quite
unnecessary.

"And where were you wounded?" asked Miss Brent conventionally.

"Clean through the buttocks, mum," replied Uncle simply.

Miss Brent flushed and cast a swift glance at Elton, whose face showed
no sign. She turned to Uncle and regarded him severely; but he was
blissfully unaware of having offended.

"Can't sit down now, mum, without it 'urtin'," added Uncle,
interpreting Miss Brent's steady gaze as betokening interest.

"Oh, Goddy! I've been trying to fight my way across to you for hours."
The pretty brunette to whom Elton had bowed joined the group. "I've
been giving you the glad eye all the afternoon and you merely bow.
Well, Uncle, how's the wound?"

Miss Brent gasped. She was unaware that Uncle's wound was the standing
joke among all Lady Meyfield's guests.

"Oh! I'm gettin' on, thank you," said Uncle cheerfully. "Mustn't
complain."

"Isn't he a darling?" The girl addressed herself to Miss Brent, who
merely stared.

"Do yo