perceptibly, and then went on:--"I think that
Timmy told you that Betty was with the Scottish Women's Hospital during
the war? She's got one of the best French decorations."

Should she say anything about George? Before she could make up her mind
she heard the words--"You can't go on any longer now. Time's up." And
Radmore called out hastily:--"Till Friday then--so long!"

Janet Tosswill hung up the receiver; but she did not move away from the
telephone at once. She stood there, wondering painfully whether she had
better go along and tell Betty _now_, or whether it would be better to
wait till, say, lunch, when all the young people would be gathered
together? After all Betty had been nineteen when her engagement to
Godfrey Radmore had been broken off, and so very much had happened since
then.

And then, in a sense, her mind was made up for her by the fact that a
shadow fell across the floor of the hall, and looking up, she saw her old
friend and confidant, Dr. O'Farrell, blocking up the doorway with his big
burly body.

"D'you remember Godfrey Radmore?" she asked as their hands met.

"Come now, you're joking surely. Remember Radmore? I've good cause to; I
don't know whether I ever told you--" there came a slight, very slight
note of embarrassment into his hearty Irish voice--"that I wrote to the
good fellow just after the Armistice, about our Pat. That the boy's doing
as well out in Brisbane as he is, is largely owing to Radmore's good
offices."

Mrs. Tosswill was surprised, and not quite pleased. She wondered why Dr.
O'Farrell had not told her at the time that he was writing to Godfrey.
She still subconsciously felt that Godfrey Radmore belonged to Old Place
and to no one else in Beechfield.

"I didn't know about Pat," she said slowly. "But you'll be able to thank
him in person now, for he's coming on Friday to stay with us."

"Is he now?" The shrewd Irishman looked sharply into her troubled face.
"Well, well, you'll have to let bygones be bygones--eh, Mrs. Toss? I take
it he's a great man now."

"I don't think money makes for greatness," she said.

"Don't you?" he queried drily. "I do! Come admit, woman, that you're
sorry _now_ you didn't let Betty take the risk?"

"I'm not at all sorry--" she cried. "It was all his fault. He was such
a strange, rough, violent young fellow!"

The words trembled on the old doctor's lips--"Perhaps it will all come
right now!" But he checked himself, for in his heart of hea