“I quite agree. I—...” “What I mean to say is, if you get time come round to my studio and have a look at my new pictures. Are you still writing for periodicals?” Winterbourne smiled. “No. I’ve been rather busy, you know, and in the trenches one—” “What I mean to say is, I’d like you to do an article on my Latest Development.” “Suprematism?” “Good Lord, NO! I finished with _that_ long ago. How extraordinarily ignorant you are, Winterbourne! No, no. I’m working at Concavism now. It’s by far the greatest contribution that’s been made to twentieth-century civilization. What I means is....” Winterbourne ceased to listen and drank off a full glass of wine. Why hadn’t Evans written to him? Died of the effects of gas probably. He beckoned to the waiter. “Bring me another bottle of wine.” “Yessir.” “George!” came Elizabeth’s voice, warning and slightly reproving. “Don’t drink too much!” He made no answer, but sat looking heavily at his coffee cup. Blast her. Blast Upjohn. Blast the lot of them. He drank off another glass of wine, and felt the singing dazzle of intoxication, its comforting oblivion, stealing into him. Blast them. Mr. Upjohn grew tired of improving the mind of a cretin who hadn’t even the wits to listen to him, and slid away. Presently Mr. Waldo Tubbe took his place. “Well, my dear Winterbourne, I am very happy to see you again looking so well. The military life has set you up splendidly. And Mrs. Winterbourne tells me that at last you have received a commission. I congratulate you—better late than never.” “Thanks. But I may not get it, you know. I’ve got to pass the training school.” “Oh, that’ll do you a world of good, a world of good.” “I hope so.” “And how did you spend your leisure in France—still reading and painting?” Winterbourne gave a little hard laugh. “No, mostly lying about sleeping.” “I’m sorry to hear that. But, you know, if you will forgive my saying so, I always doubted whether your vocation were really towards the arts. I felt you were more fitted for an open-air life. Of course, you’re doing splendid work now, splendid. The Empire needs every man. When you come back after the victory, as I trust you will return safe and sound, why don’t you take up life in one of our colonies, Australia or Canada? There’s a great opening for men there.” Winterbourne laughed again. “Wait till I get back, and then we’ll see. Have a glass of wine?” “No-oeh, thank you, no-oeh. By the way, what is that red ribbon on your arm? Vaccination?” “No, Company Runner.” “A Company Runner? What is that? Not runner away, I hope?” And Mr. Tubbe laughed silently, nodding his head up and down in appreciation of his jest. Winterbourne did not smile. “Well, it might be under some circumstances, if you knew which way to run.” “Oh, but our men are so splendid, so splendid, so unlike the Germans, you know. Haven’t you found the Germans mean-spirited? They have to be chained to their machine-guns, you know.”