"but I must. I really have rather an
important appointment this afternoon."

"An appointment!" she grumbled. "You are in London for so short a time
and you seem to be keeping appointments all the while. I sha'n't let you
go unless you tell me what it's about."

"I have to inspect a new pattern of camp bedstead," he explained calmly.
"If I may, I will telephone directly I am free and see if you are at
liberty."

She shrugged her shoulders but gave him a pleasant little nod as he
stepped into the taxi.

"Sober old stick, Thomson," her brother observed, as they started off.
"I didn't like his pulling me up like that but I expect he was right."

"I don't see what business it was of his and I think it was rather
horrid of him," Olive declared. "As though Gerry or I mattered!"

"A chap like Thomson hasn't very much discretion, you see," Ralph
Conyers remarked. "You'll have to wake him up a bit, Gerry, if you mean
to get any fun out of life."

There was just the faintest look of trouble in Geraldine's face. She
remained perfectly loyal, however.

"Some of us take life more seriously than others," she sighed. "Hugh
is one of them. When one remembers all the terrible things he must have
seen, though, it is very hard to find fault with him."

They turned into the Square and paused before Olive's turning.

"You're coming down with me, Ralph, and you too, Geraldine?" she
invited.

Conyers shook his head regretfully.

"I'm due at the Admiralty at four to receive my final instructions," he
said. "I must move along at once."

The smile suddenly faded from his lips. He seemed to be listening to
the calling of the newsboys down the street. "I don't know what my
instructions are going to be," he continued, dropping his voice a
little, "but I'm sick of making war the way our chaps are doing it. If
ever I'm lucky enough to get one of those murderous submarines, I can
promise you one thing--there'll be no survivors."

For a moment or two they neither of them spoke. From out of the windows
of the house before which they were standing came the music of a popular
waltz. Olive turned a way with a little shiver.

"You think I'm brutal, dear," Conyers went on, as he patted her hand.
"Remember, I've seen men killed--that's what makes the difference,
Olive. Yes, I am different! We are all different, we who've tackled the
job. Thomson's different. Your young man at luncheon, Geraldine--what's
his name?--Granet--he's different. The