ce it now."

Something in the tone of this speech caused his aunts to exclaim
simultaneously--

"Dear boy, he has not changed one bit!"

"You never told us, Peter," said the canon, huskily.

"I didn't want a fuss," Peter said, very simply, "so I just got the
newspaper chap to cork it down about my being shot in the arm, without
any details. It had to be amputated first thing, as a matter of fact."

"It has given your aunt Georgina and me a terrible shock," said Lady
Belstone, faintly.

"You can't expect a fellow who has been invalided home to turn up
without a single scratch," said Peter, in rather surly tones.

"How like his father!" said Miss Crewys.

"Besides, you know very well my mother would have tormented herself to
death if I had told her," said Peter. "I want her to see with her own
eyes how perfectly all right I am before she knows anything about it."

"It was a noble thought," said the canon.

"Where is she?" demanded Peter.

He seemed about to cross the hall to the staircase but the canon
detained him.

"Oughtn't some one to prepare her?"

"Oh, joy never kills," said Peter. "She's quite well, isn't she?"

"Quite well."

"Very well _indeed_" said Miss Crewys, with emphasis that seemed to
imply Lady Mary was better than she had any need to be.

"I have never," said the canon, with a nervous side-glance at Peter,
"seen her look so well, nor so--so lovely, nor so--so brilliant. Only
your return was needed to complete--her happiness."

Peter looked at the canon through his newly acquired eyeglass with
some slight surprise.

"Well," he said, "I wouldn't telegraph. I wanted to slip home quietly,
that's the fact; or I knew the place would be turned upside down to
receive me."

"The people are preparing a royal welcome for you," said the canon,
warmly. "Banners, music, processions, addresses, and I don't know
what."

"That's awful rot!" said Peter. "Tell them I hate banners and music
and addresses, and everything of the kind."

"No, no, my dear boy," said the canon, in rather distressed tones.
"Don't say that, Peter, pray. You must think of _their_ feelings, you
know. There's hardly one of them who hasn't sent somebody to the war;
son or brother or sweetheart. And all that's left for--for those who
stay behind--not always the least hard thing to do for a patriot,
Peter--is to honour, as far as they can, each one who returns. They
work off some of their accumulated feelings that way, you kn