we'll cut it right out. We will resume our
studies, old bean; we will endeavour to find out by what possible
method Bolshevism--_vide_ her august papa--can be kept from the
country. As a precautionary measure, a first-class ticket to
Timbuctoo, in case we fail in our modest endeavour, might be a good
speculation. . . ."

For a moment he stood motionless, staring into the cool shadows of the
wood, while a curious smile played over his face. And may be, in spite
of his derisive critic, who still croaked from the edge of the pool,
his thoughts were not entirely centred on his proposed modest
endeavour. Then with a short laugh he turned on his heel, and strode
back towards Rumfold.

Two days later he found himself once again before a Medical Board.
Space, even in convalescent homes, was at a premium, and Vane, to his
amazement, found himself granted a month's sick leave, at the
expiration of which he was to go before yet another Board. And so
having shaken hands with Lady Patterdale and suffered Sir John to
explain the war to him for nearly ten minutes, Vane departed for London
and Half Moon Street.

He wrote Margaret a long letter in reply to hers telling him of her
decision to take up medicine. He explained, what was no more than the
truth, that her suggestion had taken him completely by surprise, but
that if she considered that she had found her particular job he, for
one, would most certainly not attempt to dissuade her. With regard to
himself, however, the matter was somewhat different. At present he
failed to see any budding literary signs, and his few efforts in the
past had not been of the nature which led him to believe that he was
likely to prove a formidable rival to Galsworthy or Arnold
Bennett. . . .

"I'm reading 'em all, Margaret--the whole blessed lot. And it seems to
me that with the world as it is at present, bread-and-butter is wanted,
not caviare. . . . But probably the mistake is entirely mine. There
seems to me to be a spirit of revolt in the air, which gives one most
furiously to think. Everybody distrusts everybody else; everybody
wants to change--and they don't know what they want to change to.
There doesn't seem to be any single connected idea as to what is
wanted--or how to get it. The only thing on which everyone seems
agreed is More Money and Less Work. . . . Surely to Heaven there must
be a way out; some simple way out. We didn't have this sort of thing
over the water.