"Now then, ladies, when I says Number--you numbers from Right to Left in an heven tone of voice. The third lady from the left 'as no lady behind 'er--seeing as we're a hodd number. She forms the blank file. Yes, you, mum--you, I means." "What are you pointing at me for, my good man?" The Vicar's wife suddenly realised she was being spoken to. "Am I doing anything wrong?" "No, mum, no. Not this time. I was only saying as you 'ave no one behind you." "Oh! I'll go there at once--I'm so sorry." She retired to the rear rank. "Dear Mrs. Goodenough, _did_ I tread upon your foot?--so clumsy of me! Oh, what is that man saying now? But you've just told me to come here. You did nothing of the sort? How rude!" But as I said, the game did not interest James Henry, so he wandered away and played in some bushes. There were distinct traces of a recently moving mole which was far more to the point. Then having found--after a diligent search and much delight in pungent odours--that the mole was a has-been, our Henry disappeared for a space. And far be it from me to disclose where he went: his intentions were always strictly honourable. When he appeared again the Earl had just returned from London, and was talking to the tall soldier-man. The Women War Workers had departed, and, as James Henry approached, his mistress came out and joined the two men. "Have those dreadful women gone, my dear?" asked the Earl as he saw her. "You're very rude, Dad. The Federated Association of the W.W.W. is a very fine body of patriotic women. What did you think of our drill, Derek?" "Wonderful, Monica. Quite the most wonderful thing I've ever seen." The soldier solemnly offered her a cigarette. "You men are all jealous. We're coming out to France as V.A.D.'s soon." "Good Lord, Derek--you ought to have seen their first drill. In one corner of the lawn that poor devil of a sergeant with his face a shiny purple alternately sobbed and bellowed like a bull--while twenty-seven W.W.W.'s tied themselves into a knot like a Rugby football scrum, and told one another how they'd done it. It was the most heart-rending sight I've ever seen." "Dear old Dad!" The girl blew a cloud of smoke. "You told it better last time." "Don't interrupt, Monica. The final tableau----" "Which one are you going to tell him, dear? The one where James Henry bit the Vicar's wife in the leg, or the one where the sergeant with a choking cry of 'Double, damn you!' fell fainting into the rhododendron bush?" "I think the second is the better," remarked the soldier pensively. "Dogs always bite the Vicar's wife's leg. Not a hobby I should personally take up, but----" They all laughed. "Now run indoors, old 'un, and tell John to get you a mixed Vermouth--I want to talk to Derek." The girl gently pushed her father towards the open window.