almost as much of
Anthony's plans as she herself.

"But did he tell you?" she asked in surprise.

"It's like this," said Flora who generally spoke for the company.
"Jane and myself were with him in the Secret Service during the last
year of the war."

"He got us the job," Jane interpolated. She was a big, bonny girl with
broad shoulders, steady blue eyes and a complexion that would have
advertised any health resort. "Cook kicks herself that she wasn't in
that show."

It was at this point Mrs. Barraclough came into the room.

"Kicks herself! What a very unbecoming expression, Jane."

"Sorry, madam," said Jane and she and Flora sniggered uncontrollably.

"You girls perplex me greatly," said Mrs. Barraclough. "You do not
laugh in the least like ordinary servants."

"How do ordinary servants laugh?" Jane asked.

"Generally speaking, in a high note that echoes distressingly
throughout the house, whereas you laugh like young ladies."

"Oh, you old darling," exclaimed Flora with sudden impulsiveness. "I
suppose if a decent education and upbringing counts for anything that's
just what we are."

Mrs. Barraclough sat down rather abruptly on a small upright sofa in
the centre of the room.

"Then for goodness sake tell me what you are doing in my kitchen."

There was no escaping the explanation especially when Isabel
contributed:

"Come on, Flora, out with it."

"It's this way, madam. Lots of us went broke after the war--lots of us
who'd only fifty quid a year to live on."

"Quid?" said Mrs. Barraclough. "Isn't that something to do with
sailors and tobacco?"

"Pounds, then. We ran across Mr. Anthony out in France."

"Picked him out of a ditch near Arras with a bullet through his foot,"
Jane contributed.

"And after that got most awfully friendly and kept knocking up against
each other."

Mrs. Barraclough shook her head.

"It must have been very painful for him with a bullet through his foot."

"When he heard we'd gone broke he said--just like him--'my mother's a
sport, go and look after her.'"

"So I'm a sport," said Mrs. Barraclough with a smile. "But even so,
why should I want looking after?"

"That's what puzzles me," said Isabel.

Jane and Flora exchanged glances.

"I don't know whether we ought to," said Jane.

"He's my fiance," said Isabel, "and you're jolly well not going to keep
me in the dark."

"And quite incidentally," Mrs. Barraclough remarked, "he's my son."

"Oh, very