“I’m ready. Do it gently, Con. Remember they are older than we are.” “Good news never hurts. Come on!” Noel and Gregor MacLean, while anxiously awaiting news from Headquarters as to the possible formation of a Reserve Battalion, were preparing themselves for the chance by developing their skill in musketry at the private shooting-school on the heath not far away. They went up every day and spent many pounds at the targets and then at clay pigeons, and in addition set themselves rigorous route-marches of ten and fifteen miles to get themselves and their feet into good condition. And each night they came home thick with mud and hungry as hunters, and well-satisfied that they were doing everything in their power to fit themselves for the real thing when the hoped-for call should come. So Vic and Honor were thrown more than ever upon their own congenial companionship. They were inseparable, and the days not being long enough for adequate expression of their feelings, they generally spent the nights together also. And Mrs Dare and Auntie Mitt were growing accustomed to the sudden announcements,--“Vic’s sleeping with me to-night, Mother,” and,--“Auntie Mitt, Honor’s going to sleep here to-night,”--and the older folk made no objection, since it pleased the girls and alternately brightened each house in turn. The times were somewhat out of joint and anything that tended towards mitigation of circumstances was to be made the most of. And so, when Con and Alma walked into Oakdene, they found the family party still lingering over their tea-cups in the hall;--Miss Mitten’s knitting-needles going like clock-work, the Colonel expatiating on the monstrous perfidy of Germany in attacking Belgium, the girls nibbling their final cakes and listening somewhat abstractedly, wondering no doubt what those boys were doing to-day, and feeling that life--and certainly golf--without them was distinctly thin and flavourless. “Ah--ha!” said Con magniloquently, “Here are the tribes assembled together. Colonel!”--with a punctilious military salute,--“Auntie Mitt!--and you two little girls!--we have come to gather your views on the subject of marriage. A worthy subject! Don’t all speak at once.” “It is usually accounted an honourable estate,” said the Colonel, beaming on them, while Miss Mitten peered up, bird-like, but knitted on for dear life, and the girls looked anticipative. “We thank you!” said Con with a comprehensive bow. “Then you will permit me to introduce to you--Mrs Connal Dare,”--at which, as he swung Alma gracefully forward by the hand, they all sprang to fullest life as though pricked by an electric shock. “Well--I’m da-asht!” “Alma! My _dear_!” “Con!--Is it true?” “Oh, you dear, horribly mean things!”-- “To do us out of it all like that!” “Horrid of them, but awfully jolly all the same!”