The Staff-officer got up and strolled to a table on which were lying some illustrated weekly papers. "Have you last week's _Tatler_?" He turned over the leaves. "Yes--here it is." He handed the newspaper to the Major. "That is why." "_A charming portrait of Lady Kathleen Goring; who was last week married to that well-known sportsman and soldier Sir Richard Goring. She was, it will be remembered, very popular in London society as the beautiful Miss Kathleen Tubbs--the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Silas P. Tubbs, of Pittsburg, Pa._" The Major put down the paper and looked at the Staff-captain; then suddenly he rose and hurled it into the corner. "Oh, damn these women," he exploded. "Amen," murmured the other, as, with a loud snort, the sleeper awoke. "Is anything th' matter?" he murmured, drowsily, only to relapse at once into unconsciousness. "Jim was practically engaged to her; and then, three months ago, without a word of explanation, she gave him the order of the boot, and got engaged to Goring." The Staff-captain spoke savagely. "A damn rotten woman, Major, and Jim's well out of it, if he only knew. Goring's a baronet, which is, of course, the reason why this excrescence of the house of Tubbs chucked Jim. As a matter of fact, Dick Goring's not a bad fellow--he deserves a better fate. But it fairly broke Jim up. He's not the sort of fellow who falls in love easily; this was his one and only real affair, and he took it bad. He told me at the time that he never intended to come back alive." "Damn it all!" The Major's voice was irritable. "Why, his knowledge of the lingo alone makes him invaluable." "Frankly, I've been expecting to hear of his death every day. He's not the type that says a thing of that sort without meaning it." A step sounded on the floor above. "Look out, here he is. You'll stop and have a bit of lunch, Bill?" As he spoke the light in the doorway was blocked out, and a man came uncertainly down the stairs. "Confound these cellars. One can't see a thing, coming in out of the daylight. Who's that? Halloa, Bill, old cock, 'ow's yourself?" "Just tottering, Jim. Where've you been?" "Wandered down to Vlamertinghe this morning early to see about some sandbags, and while I was there I met that flying wallah Petersen in the R.N.A.S. Do you remember him, Major? He was up here with an armoured car in May. He told me rather an interesting thing." "What's that, Jim?" The Major was attacking a brawn with gusto. "Sit down, Bill. Whisky and Perrier in that box over there." "He tells me the Huns have got six guns whose size he puts at about 9-inch; guns, mark you, not howitzers--mounted on railway trucks at Tournai. From there they can be rushed by either branch of the line--the junction is just west--to wherever they are required."