usy.
No, she did not expect to see him again before ... he left. Yes; he was
going with the First Army.

Jan asked no more questions, but was quietly, consistently kind. Meg
was adorable with her children and surpassed herself in the telling of
stories.

The First Army left England for Flanders with the silence of a shadow.

But Meg knew when it left.

That night, Jan woke about one o'clock, conscious of a queer sound that
she could neither define nor locate.

She sat up in bed to listen, and arrived at the conclusion that it came
from the day-nursery, which was below her room.

Tony was sleeping peacefully. Jan put on her dressing-gown and went
downstairs. The nursery door was not shut, and a shaft of light shone
through it into the dark hall. She pushed it open a little way and
looked in.

Meg was sitting at the table, making muslin curtains as if her life
depended on it. She wore her nightgown, and over it a queer little
Japanese kimono of the green she loved. Her bare feet were pillowed upon
William, who lay snoring peacefully under the table.

Her face was set and absorbed. A grave, almost stern, little face. And
her rumpled hair, pushed back from her forehead, gave her the look of a
Botticelli boy angel. It seemed to merge into tongues of flame where the
lamplight caught it.

The window was wide open and the sudden opening of the door caused a
draught, though the night was singularly still.

The lamp flickered.

Meg rested her hand on the handle of the sewing-machine, and the
whirring noise stopped. She saw Jan in the doorway.

"Dear," said Jan gently, standing where she was, half in and half out of
the door, "are you obliged to do this?"

Meg looked at her, and the dumb pain in that look went to Jan's heart.

Jan came towards her and drew the flaming head against her breast.

"I'm sorry I disturbed you," Meg murmured, "but I was _obliged_ to do
something."

William stirred at the voices, and turning his head tried to lick the
little bare feet resting on his back.

"Dearest, I really think you should go back to bed."

"Very well," said Meg meekly. "I'll go now."

"He," Jan continued, "would be very angry if he thought you were making
curtains in the middle of the night."

"He," Meg retorted, "is absurd--and dear beyond all human belief."

"You see, he left you in my charge ... what will he say if--when he
comes back--he finds a haggard Meg with a face like a threepenny-bit
that has seen