uld bring
mamma to Shenstone in autumn."

The doctor's face was grave. For a moment he looked silently into the
fire. He was a man of many ideals, and foremost among them was his ideal
of the relation which should be between parents and children; of the
loyalty to a mother, which, even if forced to admit faults or failings,
should tenderly shield them from the knowledge or criticism of outsiders.
It hurt him, as a sacrilege, to hear a daughter speak thus of her mother;
yet he knew well, from facts which were common knowledge, how little
cause the sweet, lovable woman at his side had to consider the tie either
a sacred or a tender one. He had come to help, not to find fault. Also,
the minute-hand was hastening towards the hour; and the final
instructions of the kind-hearted old Duchess of Meldrum, as she parted
from him at the War Office, had been: "Remember! Six o'clock from London.
I shall _insist_ upon its being kept back until then. If they make
difficulties, I shall camp in the entrance and 'hold up' every messenger
who attempts to pass out. But I am accustomed to have my own way with
these good people. I should not hesitate to ring up Buckingham Palace, if
necessary, as they very well know! So you may rest assured it will not
leave London until six o'clock. It gives you ample time."

Therefore the doctor said: "I understand. It does not come within my own
experience; yet I think I understand. But tell me, Lady Ingleby. If bad
news were to come, would you sooner receive it direct from the War
Office, in the terribly crude wording which cannot be avoided in those
telegrams; or would you rather that a friend--other than your
mother--broke it to you, more gently?"

Myra's eyes flashed. She sat up with instant animation.

"Oh, I would receive it direct," she said. "It would be far less hard, if
it were official. I should hear the roll of the drums, and see the wave
of the flag. For England, and for Honour! A soldier's daughter, and a
soldier's wife, should be able to stand up to anything. If they had to
tell me Michael was in great danger, I should share his danger in
receiving the news without flinching. If he were wounded, as I read the
telegram I should receive a wound myself, and try to be as brave as he.
All which came direct from the war, would unite me to Michael. But
interfering friends, however well-meaning, would come between. If _he_
had not been shielded from a bullet or a sword-thrust, why should _I_ be