At which she smiled, a smile that overflowed eyes and lips, and stirred the senses of the man beside her. "How is the prisoner?" "Poor boy! He died the day before yesterday. We did everything we could, but he had no chance from the first. Hard lines!" "Why, he might have been home next year!" "He might, indeed. Yes, Miss Henderson, it'll be peace next year--perhaps this year! Who knows! But I hope I'll have a look in first. I've got my orders. As soon as they've appointed my successor here, I'm off. About a month, I suppose. They've accepted me for the Air Force." His eyes glowed. Rachel said nothing. She felt hurt that he expressed no regret at going. Then the vicar struck into the conversation with some enthusiastic remarks about the steady flowing in of the American army. That, indeed, was the great, the overpowering fact of these August days. Ellesborough responded eagerly, describing the huge convoy with which he himself had come over; and that amazing, that incredible march across three thousand miles of sea and land, which every day was pouring into the British Isles, and so into France, some 15,000 men--the flower of American manhood, come to the rescue of the world. He told the great story well, with the graphic phrases of a quick mind, well fed on facts, yet not choked by them. The table hung on him. Even little Jenny, with parted lips, would not have missed a word. He meanwhile was led on--for he was not a man of facile or boastful speech--by the eyes of Rachel Henderson, and those slight gestures or movements by which from time to time when the talk flagged she would set it going again. Margaret Shenstone was particularly stirred. "What friends we shall be!" she said presently, with a long, quivering breath--"I mean America and England. Friends for ever! And we quarrelled once. That's so wonderful. That shows good does come out of evil!" "I should jolly well think so," said Ellesborough, looking kindly at the young girl. "Why, if it hadn't been for this war, millions of these boys who are coming over now would never have seen England or Europe at all. It'll change the face of everything!" "Only we must play up," said the vicar anxiously. "We must get rid of our abominable shyness, and let your people really see how we really welcome them." Rachel gave a little defiant shake of the head. "America's got to thank us, too!" she said, with a challenging look at Ellesborough. "We've borne it for four years. Now it's your turn!" "Well, here we are," said Ellesborough quietly, "up to the neck. But--of course--don't thank us. It's our business just as much as yours." The talk dropped a moment, and Janet took advantage of it to bring in coffee as a finish to the meal. Under cover of the slight bustle, Ellesborough said to Rachel, in a voice no longer meant for the table,-- "Could you spare me a letter sometimes, Miss Henderson--at the front?"