ad, and when his turn came--he had had to wait--he had yielded his
place to those behind, saying that he didn't matter. And he had wasted
more precious time buying bananas, though he knew that the Pembrokes
were not partial to fruit. Amid much tardy and chaotic hospitality
the meal got under way. All the spoons and forks were anyhow, for Mrs.
Aberdeen's virtues were not practical. The fish seemed never to have
been alive, the meat had no kick, and the cork of the college
claret slid forth silently, as if ashamed of the contents. Agnes was
particularly pleasant. But her brother could not recover himself. He
still remembered their desolate arrival, and he could feel the waters of
the Pem eating into his instep.

"Rickie," cried the lady, "are you aware that you haven't congratulated
me on my engagement?"

Rickie laughed nervously, and said, "Why no! No more I have."

"Say something pretty, then."

"I hope you'll be very happy," he mumbled. "But I don't know anything
about marriage."

"Oh, you awful boy! Herbert, isn't he just the same? But you do know
something about Gerald, so don't be so chilly and cautious. I've just
realized, looking at those groups, that you must have been at school
together. Did you come much across him?"

"Very little," he answered, and sounded shy. He got up hastily, and
began to muddle with the coffee.

"But he was in the same house. Surely that's a house group?"

"He was a prefect." He made his coffee on the simple system. One had a
brown pot, into which the boiling stuff was poured. Just before serving
one put in a drop of cold water, and the idea was that the grounds fell
to the bottom.

"Wasn't he a kind of athletic marvel? Couldn't he knock any boy or
master down?"

"Yes."

"If he had wanted to," said Mr. Pembroke, who had not spoken for some
time.

"If he had wanted to," echoed Rickie. "I do hope, Agnes, you'll be most
awfully happy. I don't know anything about the army, but I should think
it must be most awfully interesting."

Mr. Pembroke laughed faintly.

"Yes, Rickie. The army is a most interesting profession,--the profession
of Wellington and Marlborough and Lord Roberts; a most interesting
profession, as you observe. A profession that may mean death--death,
rather than dishonour."

"That's nice," said Rickie, speaking to himself. "Any profession
may mean dishonour, but one isn't allowed to die instead. The army's
different. If a soldier makes a mess, it's thought