Bessie said no more, but all her uneasiness returned as she followed Edna. Mrs. Grant had temporary lodgings in the High Street, over a linen-draper's shop. She ushered her young guests into a large untidy looking room with three windows overlooking the street. One or two of the other ladies joined them, and one officer after another soon found their way up the steep little staircase, for Mrs. Grant was noted for her hospitality. She called Edna to help her at the tea-table, and Bessie seated herself by one of the windows. No one took much notice of her; her good-natured partner at tennis, Leonard Singleton, was not among Mrs. Grant's guests. Captain Grant brought her some tea, and offered her cake and fruit, but he soon left her to devote himself exclusively to Miss Sefton. Bessie felt very dull, and out in the cold, and yet she had no wish to join the gay group round the tea-table. The room felt close and oppressive; the first heavy drops were pattering on the window; two or three children were running down the street with a yellow dog barking at their heels. "You will get wet; shall I close the window?" observed a voice behind her, and Bessie started and looked round at the tall, solemn-looking young officer who had been introduced to her two hours previously as "Captain Broughton, not of ours, Miss Lambert." "Oh, no, I prefer it open, it is so warm," replied Bessie hastily. "Oh, ah, yes! Are you fond of polo?" "I never saw it played until this afternoon; it is very exciting, but I am sure it must be dangerous." "Nothing to speak of; an accident now and then--man half killed last Thursday, though." "Oh, dear, how dreadful!" The solemn-faced officer relaxed into a smile. "Well, he might have been killed outright in battle, don't you know; accidents will happen now and then; it is just luck, you see, and Owen always is such an unlucky beggar." Bessie refuted this with some vivacity. She explained that though it might be a man's duty to die for his country, it was quite another thing to imperil a valuable life on a mere game; but she could make no impression on the solemn-faced captain. "But it is an uncommonly good game, don't you know," he persisted; and Bessie gave up the point, for Captain Broughton's mind seemed as wooden as his face. "It was no good talking to such a man," she observed to Edna, as they drove home; "he said 'Don't you know' at the end of every sentence, and seemed so stupid." "Are you talking about Captain Broughton?" asked Edna calmly. "My dear Daisy, it is not always wise to judge by appearances. Captain Broughton is not specially amusing in conversation, but he is a brave fellow. Do you know, he wears the Victoria Cross for his gallantry in saving a wounded soldier; only a private too. Yes; though he was wounded himself, he carried him off the field. He was a village lad--one of his own tenants--who had followed him out to India, and when another ball struck him he just staggered on."