plause. She found herself strung to her highest pitch of excitement by
the air raids, which in the midst of their terrors had the singular
effect of exciting many people and filling them with an insane
recklessness. Those so excited somehow seemed to feel themselves immune.
Feather chattered about "Zepps" as if bombs could only wreak their
vengeance upon coast towns and the lower orders.

When Lord Coombe definitely refused to allow her to fit up the roof of
the slice of a house as a sort of luxurious Royal Box from which she and
her friends might watch the spectacle, she found among her circle
acquaintances who shared her thrills and had prepared places for
themselves. Sometimes she was even rather indecently exhilarated by her
sense of high adventure. The fact was that the excitement of the
seething world about her had overstrung her trivial being and turned her
light head until it whirled too fast.

"It may seem horrid to say so and I'm not horrid--but I _like_ the war.
You know what I mean. London never was so thrilling--with things
happening every minute--and all sorts of silly solemn fads swept away so
that one can do as one likes. And interesting heroic men coming and
going in swarms and being so grateful for kindness and entertainment.
One is really doing good all the time--and being adored for it. I own I
like being adored myself--and of course one likes doing good. I never
was so happy in my life."

"I used to be rather a coward, I suppose," she chattered gaily on
another occasion. "I was horribly afraid of things. I believe the War
and living among soldiers has had an effect on me and made me braver.
The Zepps don't frighten me at all--at least they excite me so that they
make me forget to be frightened. I don't know what they do to me
exactly. The whole thing gets into my head and makes me want to rush
about and _see_ everything. I wouldn't go into a cellar for worlds. I
want to _see_!"

She saw Lord Coombe but infrequently at this time, the truth being that
her exhilaration and her War Work fatigued him, apart from which his
hours were filled. He also objected to a certain raffishness which in an
extremely mixed crowd of patriots rather too obviously "swept away silly
old fads" and left the truly advanced to do as they liked. What they
liked he did not and was wholly undisturbed by the circumstances of
being considered a rigid old fossil. Feather herself had no need of him.
An athletic and particularly