e or
a red nose very likely. Mind you write to me twice a week at the very
least," replied Lucille, and added:--

"Bet you that silly cat Amelia Harringport is in your pocket all
to-morrow afternoon and evening. _All_ the Harringport crowd are
coming from Folkestone, you know. If you run the clock-golf she'll
_adore_ clock-golf, and if you play tennis she'll _adore_ tennis....
Can't think what she sees in you...."

"Don't be cattish, Lusilly," urged the young man. "'Melier's all
right. It's you she comes to see, of course."

To which, it is regrettable to have to relate, Lucille replied
"Rodents".

Talk languished between the young people. Both seemed unwontedly ill
at ease and nervous.

"D'you get long between leaving Sandhurst and joining the Corps you're
going to distinguish, Dammy?" asked the girl after an uneasy and
pregnant silence, during which they had furtively watched each other,
and smiled a little uncomfortably and consciously when they had
caught each other doing so.

"Dunno. Sure not to. It's a rotten world," replied Dam gloomily. "I
expect I shall come back and find you--"

"Of course you'll come back and find me! What do you mean, Dam?" said
the girl. She flushed curiously as she interrupted him. Before he
could reply she continued:--

"You won't be likely to have to go abroad directly you join your
Regiment, will you?"

"I shall try for the Indian Army or else for a British Regiment in
India," was the somewhat sullen answer.

"Dam! What ever for?"

"More money and less expenses."

"Dam! You mercenary little toad! You grasping, greedy hog!... Why! I
thought...."

Lucille gazed straight and searchingly at her life-long friend for a
full minute and then rose to her feet.

"Come to tea," she said quietly, and led the way to the big lawn
where, beneath an ancient cedar of Lebanon, the pompous Butterton and
his solemn satellite were setting forth the tea "things".

Aunt Yvette presided at the tea-table and talked bravely to two
woolly-witted dames from the Vicarage who had called to consult her
anent the covering of a foot-stool "that had belonged to their dear
Grandmamma".

("'Time somebody shot it," murmured Dam to Lucille as he handed her
cup.)

Anon Grumper bore down upon the shady spot; queer old Grumper, very
stiff, red-faced, dapper, and extremely savage.

Having greeted the guests hospitably and kindly he confined his
subsequent conversation to two grunts and a growl.

Luc