fell.

"I thought I should be sure to find him in the dinner hour."

"No, he went up to town by the first train this morning on some business
with the Ministry. We expect him back about three."

It was not one o'clock. Janet pondered what to do.

"You wanted to see him?" said Mrs. Fergusson, full of sympathy.

"I brought a letter for him. If I leave it, will he be sure to get it
directly he returns?"

"His servant's in the hut. Let's talk to him."

Mrs. Fergusson rapped at the door of the hut, and walked in. An elderly
batman appeared.

"I have a letter for Captain Ellesborough--an important letter--on
business," said Janet. "I was to wait for an answer. But as he isn't
here, where shall I leave it, so that he will be certain to get it?"

"On his table, if you please, ma'am," said the soldier, opening the door
of the Captain's small sitting-room--"I'll see that he gets it."

"It'll be quite safe?" said Janet anxiously, placing it herself in a
prominent place on the writing-table.

"Lor, yes, ma'am. Nobody comes in here but me, when the Captain's away.
I'll tell him of it directly he comes home."

"May I just write a little note myself? I expected to find Captain
Ellesborough in."

The servant handed her a sheet of paper. She wrote--"I brought Rachel's
letter, and am very disappointed not to see you. Come at once. Don't
delay. Janet Leighton."

She slipped it into an envelope, which she addressed and left beside the
other. Then she reluctantly left the hut with Mrs. Fergusson.

"I am so sorry you didn't find him," said that lady. "Was it something
about the wedding?" she added, smiling, her feminine curiosity getting
the better of her.

"Oh, no--not yet," said Janet, startled.

"Well, I suppose it won't be long," laughed Mrs. Fergusson. "He's
desperately in love, you know!"

Janet smiled in return, and Mrs. Fergusson, delighted to have the chance,
broke out into praises of her Commandant.

"You see, we women who are doing all this new work with men, we know a
jolly deal more about them than we ever did before. I can tell you, it
searches us out, this joint life--both women and men. In this camp you
can't hide what you are--the sort of man--or the sort of woman. And
there isn't a woman in this camp, if she's been here any time, who
wouldn't trust the Captain for all she's worth--who wouldn't tell him her
love-affairs, or her debts--or march up to a machine-gun, if he told her.
In a sense, they're