that afternoon. They were having tea in the pleasant sitting-room of
the cottage; sounds from the kitchen indicated that Eva was giving her
celebrated performance of a grizzly bear for the benefit of the
children. The performance always ended with a hunt, and with the
slaying of the quarry by Geoffrey, after which the bear expired with
lingering and unpleasant details. "Douglas's Colonel is in London on
leave, and he and his wife have asked me to dine and go to a theatre
afterwards. It would mean staying in London that night, of course."

"So of course you'll go?"

"I should love to go," Mrs. Hunt admitted. "It would be jolly in
itself, and then I should hear something about Douglas; and all he
ever tells me about himself might be put on a field postcard. If the
babies are quite well, Norah, do you think you would mind taking
charge?"

Norah laughed. She had occasionally come to sleep at the cottage
during a brief absence on Mrs. Hunt's part, and liked nothing better.

"I should love to come," she said. "But you'd better not put it that
way, or Eva will be dreadfully injured."

"I don't--to Eva," smiled Mrs. Hunt. "She thinks you come over in
case she should need any one to run an errand, and therefore permits
herself to adore you. In fact, she told me yesterday, that for a
young lady you had an uncommon amount of sense!"

"Jim would have said that was as good as a diploma," Norah said,
laughing.

"I rather think so, myself," Mrs. Hunt answered. "What about Wally,
Norah? Have you heard lately?"

"Yesterday," Norah replied. "He decorated his letter with beautiful
people using pen-wipers, so I suppose he is near Ypres. He says he's
very fit. But the fighting seems very stiff. I'm not happy about
Wally."

"Do you think he isn't well?"

"I don't think his mind is well," said Norah. "He was better here,
before he went back, but now that he is out again I believe he just
can't bear being without Jim. He can't think of him happily, as we
do; he only fights his trouble, and hates himself for being alive. He
doesn't say so in words, but when you know Wally as well as Dad and I
do, you can tell form his letters. He used to write such cheery,
funny letters, and now he deliberately tries to be funny--and it's
pretty terrible."

She paused, and suddenly a little sob came. Mrs. Hunt stroked her
hand, saying nothing.

"Do you know," Norah said presently, "I think we have lost Wally more
than Jim.