y to the meeting. In fact, so much did it
occupy my attention that Lorna Bolivick, who sat with me in the car,
laughingly suggested that I was a dull companion, and was evidently
thinking more about my speech than how to be agreeable to a lady.

'St. Mabyn ought to be the speaker, not I,' I said. 'He has been to
the front, and knows what real fighting means.'

'Oh, George can't speak,' she replied laughingly; 'why, even when he
addressed his tenants, after Maurice was killed, he nearly broke down.'

'What sort of fellow was Maurice?' I asked.

'Oh, just splendid. Everybody loved Maurice. But he ought not to have
stayed in the Army.'

'Why?'

'Because,--because--oh, I don't know why, but it didn't seem right.
His father was old and feeble when he went away, and as he was the heir
he ought to have stayed at home and looked after him, and the estate.
But he would go. There were rumours about trouble in Egypt, and
Maurice said he wanted to see some fighting. I suppose it was his
duty, too. After all, he was a soldier, and when his regiment was
ordered abroad, he had to go. But it seems an awful shame.'

'What kind of a looking fellow was he?'

'I don't think I am a judge; I was only a kiddy at the time, and people
said I made an idol of Maurice. But to me he was just splendid, just
the handsomest fellow I ever saw. He had such a way with him, too; no
one could refuse him anything.'

'I suppose he was engaged to Miss Blackwater?'

The girl was silent. Evidently she did not wish to talk about it.

'Were the two brothers fond of each other?' I asked.

'Oh, yes, awfully fond. The news of Maurice's death almost killed
George. You see, it happened not long after his father's death. You
have no idea how he was cut up; it was just horrible to see him. But
he's got over it now. It nearly broke my heart too, so I can quite
understand what George felt. But this must be very uninteresting to
you.'

'On the other hand, it is very interesting. Did you tell me that
George St. Mabyn was engaged to Miss Blackwater?'

'No, I didn't tell you that.'

'Is he going to be?'

I knew I was rather overstepping the bounds of good taste, but the
question escaped me almost before I was aware.

'I don't know. Oh, won't it be lovely when the war is over! You think
it will be over soon, don't you?'

'I am afraid not,' I said; 'as far as I can see, we are only at the
beginning of it.'

'Have you reason for sayin