Vane groaned. "Your sins be upon your own head," he remarked. "I've
already had one serious dissertation this morning from old John, who
used to be lodgekeeper at Rumfold."

"I know him well," cried the girl. "A dear old man. . . ."

"Who shares your views on the land question," said Vane with a smile.

She stopped and faced him. "Don't you?" she demanded quietly.

"In your own words, Joan--I am a very serious young man; and I am
seeking for knowledge."

For a moment she seemed about to reply, and then, with a short laugh,
she turned on her heel and walked on. It was just as they were
entering the drawing-room that she looked at him over her shoulder. "I
hope your search will be successful," she remarked; "and I hope still
more that when it is successful you won't commit suicide. To have
knowledge, to know to-day what is the truth, would be, I think, the
most terrible burden any man could bear. Have you ever thought how
tired God must be?"

Before he could answer she was shouting down her aunt's ear-trumpet.
And Vane was left wondering at the strange mixture which went to make
up Joan Devereux.

* * * * *

Sir James was cordially delighted to see him, especially when he
discovered that Vane knew Mr. Trent.

"Where's the little girl?" he asked as they eat down to luncheon.
"Margaret was her name, I think."

To his intense annoyance Vane found himself colouring slightly, and at
the same moment he became acutely aware that a pair of grey eyes were
fixed on him from the other side of the table.

"She is nursing at Etaples, I believe," he answered casually, but a
soft gurgle of laughter told him it was useless.

"Captain Vane, Dad, is the soul of discretion," mocked Joan. "I
shouldn't be surprised if he wasn't nursed by her. . . ."

"Devilish nice girl to be nursed by, too, my dear," chuckled her
father, "from what I remember of her. What do you think, Vane?" He
was mercifully spared the necessity of answering by the intervention of
Aunt Jane, who had pursued her own train of thought, blissfully
unconscious of any change of conversation.

"How many of the brutes did you say you'd killed, young man?" she
boomed at him, at the same time putting her ear-trumpet at the "ready."

"Two for certain," howled Vane; "perhaps three."

She resumed her lunch, and Sir James laughed. "My sister," he
remarked, "is full of war. . . . Rather fuller--like a good many of
those who h