vidently," she remarked, "your progress with the young lady was not
so rapid as it seemed, or she would have told you her secret--which,
by-the-bye, isn't a secret at all. She and Major Thomson are engaged to
be married."

CHAPTER III

A few rays of fugitive sunshine were brightening Piccadilly when
Geraldine and her escort left the Ritz. The momentary depression
occasioned by the dramatic little episode of a few minutes ago, seemed
already to have passed from the girl's manner. She walked on, humming
to herself. As they paused to cross the road, she glanced as though
involuntarily at her companion. His dark morning clothes and rather
abstracted air created an atmosphere of sombreness about him of which
she was suddenly conscious.

"Hugh, why don't you wear uniform in town?" she asked.

"Why should I?" he replied. "After all, I am not really a fighting man,
you see."

"It's so becoming," she sighed.

He seemed to catch the reminiscent flash in her eyes as she looked down
the street, and a shadow of foreboding clouded his mind.

"You found Captain Granet interesting?"

"Very," she assented heartily. "I think he is delightful, don't you?"

"He certainly seems to be a most attractive type of young man," Thomson
admitted.

"And how wonderful to have had such adventures!" she continued. "Life
has become so strange, though, during the last few months. To think that
the only time I ever saw him before was at a polo match, and to-day we
sit side by side in a restaurant, and, although he won't speak of them,
one knows that he has had all manner of marvellous adventures. He was
one of those who went straight from the playing fields to look for
glory, wasn't he, Hugh? He made a hundred and thirty-two for Middlesex
the day before the war was declared."

"That's the type of young soldier who's going to carry us through, if
any one can," Major Thomson agreed cheerfully.

She suddenly clutched at his arm.

"Hugh," she exclaimed, pointing to a placard which a newsboy was
carrying, "that is the one thing I cannot bear, the one thing which I
think if I were a man would turn me into a savage!"

They both paused and read the headlines--

PASSENGER STEAMER TORPEDOED WITHOUT WARNING IN THE IRISH SEA. TWENTY-TWO
LIVES LOST.

"That is the sort of thing," she groaned, "which makes one long to be
not a man but a god, to be able to wield thunderbolts and to deal out
hell!"

"Good for you, Gerry," a strong, fresh voice b