She looked at him with a troubled look. And yet? And yet, though it was not perhaps very reasonable that it should be so, somehow she did feel that the fact that Major Guthrie was leaving her--and Rose--the legacy of which he spoke, made a difference. It would make it easier, that is, to accept the money that lay there on her table. Though Major Guthrie was not, in the technical sense, a clever man, he had a far more intimate knowledge of human character than had his friend. "I don't know how to thank you," she said at last. He answered rather sharply, "I don't want you to thank me. And Mrs. Otway? I can say now what I've never had the opportunity of saying, that is, how much I've felt honoured by your friendship--what a lot it's meant to me." He said the words in a rather hard, formal voice, and she answered, with far more emotion than he had betrayed, "And it's been a very, very great thing for me, too, Major Guthrie. Do please believe that!" He bowed his head gravely. "Well, I must be going now," he said, a little heavily and sadly. "Oh, and one thing more--I should be very grateful if you'd go and see my mother sometimes. During the last few days hardly a soul's been near her. Of course I know how different you are the one from the other, but all the same----" he hesitated a moment. "My mother has fine qualities, once you get under that--well, shall I call it that London veneer? She saw a great deal of the world after she became a widow, while she was keeping house for a brother--when I was in India. She'd like to see Rose, too"--unconsciously he dropped the "Miss." "She likes young people, especially pretty girls." "Of course I'll go and see her, and so will Rose! You know I've always liked Mrs. Guthrie better than she liked me. I'm not 'smart' enough for her." Mrs. Otway laughed without a trace of bitterness. And then with sudden seriousness she asked him a curious question: "How long d'you think you'll be away?" "D'you mean how long do I think the War will last?" Somehow she had not thought of her question quite in that sense. "Yes: I suppose that is what I do mean." "I think it will be a long war. It will certainly last a year--perhaps a good deal longer." He walked over to the window nearest the door. Standing there, he told himself that he was looking perhaps for the last time on the dear, familiar scene before him: on the green across which high elms now flung their short morning shadows; on the encompassing houses, some of exceeding stateliness and beauty, others of a simpler, less distinguished character, yet each instinct with a dignity and seemliness which exquisitely harmonised it with its finer fellows; and finally on the slender Gothic loveliness of the Cathedral. "I'm trying to learn this view by heart," said Major Guthrie, in a queer, muffled voice. "I've always thought it the most beautiful view in England--the one that stands for all a man cares for, all he would fight for."