Noel went up to the nursery, and stole in. A night-light was burning, Nurse and baby were fast asleep. She tiptoed through into her own room. Once there, she felt suddenly so tired that she could hardly undress; and yet curiously rested, as if with that rush of emotion, Cyril and the past had slipped from her for ever. III Noel's first encounter with Opinion took place the following day. The baby had just come in from its airing; she had seen it comfortably snoozing, and was on her way downstairs, when a voice from the hall said: “How do you do?” and she saw the khaki-clad figure of Adrian Lauder, her father's curate! Hesitating just a moment, she finished her descent, and put her fingers in his. He was a rather heavy, dough-coloured young man of nearly thirty, unsuited by khaki, with a round white collar buttoned behind; but his aspiring eyes redeemed him, proclaiming the best intentions in the world, and an inclination towards sentiment in the presence of beauty. “I haven't seen you for ages,” he said rather fatuously, following her into her father's study. “No,” said Noel. “How—do you like being at the Front?” “Ah!” he said, “they're wonderful!” And his eyes shone. “It's so nice to see you again.” “Is it?” He seemed puzzled by that answer; stammered, and said: “I didn't know your sister had a baby. A jolly baby.” “She hasn't.” Lauder's mouth opened. 'A silly mouth,' she thought. “Oh!” he said. “Is it a protegee—Belgian or something?” “No, it's mine; my own.” And, turning round, she slipped the little ring off her finger. When she turned back to him, his face had not recovered from her words. It had a hapless look, as of one to whom such a thing ought not to have happened. “Don't look like that,” said Noel. “Didn't you understand? It's mine-mine.” She put out her left hand. “Look! There's no ring.” He stammered: “I say, you oughtn't to—you oughtn't to—!” “What?” “Joke about—about such things; ought you?” “One doesn't joke if one's had a baby without being married, you know.” Lauder went suddenly slack. A shell might have burst a few paces from him. And then, just as one would in such a case, he made an effort, braced himself, and said in a curious voice, both stiff and heavy: “I can't—one doesn't—it's not—” “It is,” said Noel. “If you don't believe me, ask Daddy.” He put his hand up to his round collar; and with the wild thought that he was going to tear it off, she cried: “Don't!” “You!” he said. “You! But—” Noel turned away from him to the window: She stood looking out, but saw nothing whatever. “I don't want it hidden,” she said without turning round, “I want every one to know. It's stupid as it is—stupid!” and she stamped her foot. “Can't you see how stupid it is—everybody's mouth falling open!”