"Oh, if you mean how a woman does it,--drag the old thing tightly over your left arm, so that you have only one hand to work with, fill your needle with a silly stuff that breaks if you look at it, and begin see- sawing away half a mile from the scene of the accident. Stick at it until you have pulled off most of the skin on your fingers, and then turn it round and start the whole thing over again, the other way round. Then walk about and get a blister on your heel!" The audience sputtered with laughter at this eloquent description, but Cynthia gazed down her nose with an expression of contemptuous disgust. "And how many blisters would you have if you did not mend it, pray? May I suggest that you make the experiment and see? No marks at all for that answer! Question number four is, Work a buttonhole on the accompanying strip of linen." But here Miles struck. No power on earth, he declared, would induce him to attempt to "festoon" a hole in the accepted fashion. "When I want one I'll make it with the nearest implement that comes handy. There are always my teeth as a last resource. It's silly nonsense cutting out a hole and immediately proceeding to sew it up! Time enough for that when it begins to split--" "Plucked! Hopelessly plucked!" cried Cynthia, rolling her eyes in dismay. Then the spectacles dropped off her nose, and she joined in the general laughter, and forgot her role of mentor for the rest of the evening. But it was not only in the matter of amusement that Cynthia made herself invaluable during those last trying days; she seemed ever on the watch for opportunities of service. If anything was overlooked or late in delivery, she was ready to drive to the shop, and bring it home. She invited Pam to lunch and tea, thereby setting her elders free and keeping the child happy and occupied, and she steadily refused to accompany Miles and Betty on any of their expeditions, thereby earning her friend's undying gratitude, though perhaps Miles himself was less appreciative of her self-denial. Her turn for a quiet word came only on the last day of all, when Miles accompanied her for the few yards which intervened between the two houses, and stood on the doorstep to wish her farewell. His face was white, and his words came out with even more than the usual difficulty. "It's been--a jolly good thing for me--knowing you for these last months. You've been--a help! If I ever turn out anything of a man--it will be a good deal--your doing!" Cynthia stared at him with her beautiful grave eyes. "Mine?" she cried in amazement. "Oh, why? What have I done?" "You've been yourself!" said Miles gruffly. "Good-bye!" He held out his big hand, and Cynthia's little fingers closed tightly round it. "Good-bye, Miles! I won't forget," she said simply. And with those words ringing in his ears Miles Trevor sailed away to begin his new life. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. THE GENERAL'S WOOING.