“You see,” said Con,--when Alma had kissed them all round, and he had insisted on one also, to the immense gratification of the girls,--“This is war-time, and I am off to-morrow, and from my earliest youth I have been taught never to put off till to-morrow what I could do to-day. And so,--well!”--with a wave of the hand towards Alma,--“There it is!... We knew we had your approval, sir. We knew Auntie Mitt would graciously accept the fait accompli. And we hoped from the bottom of our hearts that Vic and Honor would in time forgive us and receive us back into their favour. And--we’re very happy over it.” There was no possible doubt about that, and the Colonel, who was the only one who had any right to take exception to the matter, was far too good a sportsman to cast any shadow of a shadow upon their happiness. He had witnessed very many similar cases, and most of them had turned out very happily--when they had had the chance. It was that possibility only that added a touch of solemnity to his benediction,-- “Well, well! You’ve certainly given us a most delightful surprise, you two. War, as I know by experience, is a mighty crystalliser of the emotions, and essentially a promoter of prompt decisions. God grant you all happiness, my dears!” and he kissed Alma as if she had been his very daughter, and wrung Con’s hand warmly. “You look well in khaki, my boy,” he said, with his eyes still glistening. “And feel well, sir. I am, I think, a man of peace, but the uniform makes one feel distinctly soldierly, and if I find it absolutely necessary to knock out a German or two I believe I could do it.” “What with?” asked Vic, fingering his empty scabbard. “Oh, with my fists if needs be. But I’m for binding not for wounding. It would only be under a sense of the sternest necessity that I should give that German a daud on the neb.” “I think I shall be a nurse,” said Honor. “You do look spiffing, Alma.” “Too late for this war, my child. ‘It’s a long long way to Tipperary,’ and this is to be the last war. Still there’s always plenty to do even in peace-times.” “Will you be going out too, Al?” asked Vic. “I don’t know yet. There’s sure to be a call for nurses. Wouldn’t it be delightful to go out and meet Con there?” and her face was radiant at the thought. Mrs Dare had made them promise to come back for dinner, so that Mr Dare might have the chance of seeing them also. When, in due course, they went across they found him just in from the City, and Con was struck with the change these last ten days had made in him. He made, indeed, for their benefit a brave assumption of cheerfulness and gave them very hearty greeting, but pretended to be scandalised at their escapade, and expressed the hope that the Colonel had done his duty and told them what he thought about them. They reassured him on that point and enquired for the latest news.