"You mark my words, me boys," he was saying, "this is the big thing. I put my trust in Foch: he's the fellow who's got my money on him. No nonsense about Foch. Of course it's going to be costly, but you can't have omelettes without breaking eggs. An old proverb, me boys--but a true one." "More than true, Sir John," remarked Vane quietly. "And one that from time immemorial has proved an immense comfort to the egg." He went on up to his room. It was too early yet to start for Blandford, but Vane was in no mood for his own thoughts. They had reached a stage, indeed, whence he preferred not to follow them further. Doubtless by the time Margaret returned on leave, the beaten track would have revealed itself; until then--_cui bono_? . . . . He looked at his watch, and it occurred to him that he would just have comfortable time to pay a visit to old John before starting on his walk through the woods. From Robert he had found out where the old man was living in the village, and, a few minutes later, he was strolling down the drive towards his house. He found the little garden, just as perfectly kept as had been the one at the Lodge: the white muslin curtains in the front rooms were just as spotless. And old John himself was watering a row of sweet peas as he came to the little gate. . . . "Ah! Mr. Vane, sir," he remarked, putting down his can and hobbling forward. "I'm honoured to see you, sir." Then as he saw the three stars on Vane's sleeve, he corrected himself. "Captain Vane, sir, I should have said. . . ." "I don't think we're likely to fall out over that, John," laughed Vane. "One never knows what anybody is these days. You're a Colonel one minute, and a subaltern the next." Old John nodded his head thoughtfully. "That's true, sir--very true. One doesn't seem to know where one is at all. The world seems topsy-turvy. Things have changed, sir--and I'm thinking the missus and I are getting too old to keep pace with them. Take young Blake, sir--down the village, the grocer's son. Leastways, when I says grocer, the old man keeps a sort of general shop. Now the boy, sir, is a Captain. . . . I mis'remember what regiment--but he's a Captain." "And very likely a devilish good one too, John," said Vane smiling. "He is, sir. I've seen reports on him--at schools and courses and the like--which say he's a fine officer. But what's going to happen afterwards, sir, that's what I want to know? Is young Bob Blake going to put on his white apron again, and hand the old woman her bit of butter and sugar over the counter? What about that, sir?" "I wish to Heaven I could tell you, John," said Vane. "Bob Blake isn't the only one, you know."