'He looks down--out of spirits. Didn't he lose nearly all his friends at Neuve Chapelle?' 'Yes, some of his best friends.' 'And half the battalion! He always cared enormously about his men. He and I, you know, fought in South Africa together. Of course then he was just a young subaltern. He's a splendid chap! I'm afraid he won't get to the front again. But of course they'll find him something at home. He ought to marry--get a wife to look after him. By the way, somebody told me there was some talk about him and the daughter of the rector here. A nice little girl. Do you know her?' 'Miss Stewart? Yes.' 'What do you think of her?' 'A little nincompoop. Quite harmless!' The handsome hero smiled--unseen by his companion. Meanwhile Farrell was walking with Nelly through the stately series of walled gardens, which his grandfather had planned and carried out, mainly it seemed for the boredom of the grandson. 'What do we want with all these things now?' he said, waving an impatient hand, as he and Nelly stood at the top flight of steps looking down upon the three gardens sloping to the south, with their fragments of statuary, and old leaden statuettes, ranged along the central walks. 'They're all out of date. They were before the war; and the war has given them the _coup de grâce_. No more big estates--no more huge country houses! My grandfather built and built, for the sake of building, and I pay for his folly. After the war!--what sort of a world shall we tumble into!' 'I don't want these gardens destroyed!' said Nelly, looking up at him. 'No one ought to spoil them. They're far too beautiful!'