His face, naturally so frank, seemed to clench up, as if he were riding at a fence. 'He'll tell a lie,' she thought bitterly. But he did not. “Yes, Leila told me.” And she thought: 'I suppose he'll try and pretend that I've not been a beast!' “I admire your pluck,” he said. “I haven't any.” “We never know ourselves, do we? I suppose you wouldn't walk my pace a minute or two, would you? I'm going the same way.” “I don't know which way I'm going.” “That is my case, too.” They walked on in silence. “I wish to God I were back in France,” said Fort abruptly. “One doesn't feel clean here.” Noel's heart applauded. Ah! to get away—away from oneself! But at the thought of her baby, her heart fell again. “Is your leg quite hopeless?” she said. “Quite.” “That must be horrid.” “Hundreds of thousands would look on it as splendid luck; and so it is if you count it better to be alive than dead, which I do, in spite of the blues.” “How is Cousin Leila?” “Very well. She goes on pegging away at the hospital; she's a brick.” But he did not look at her, and again there was silence, till he stopped by Lord's Cricket-ground. “I mustn't keep you crawling along at this pace.” “Oh, I don't mind!” “I only wanted to say that if I can be of any service to you at any time in any way whatever, please command me.” He gave her hand a squeeze, took his hat off; and Noel walked slowly on. The little interview, with its suppressions, and its implications, had but exasperated her restlessness, and yet, in a way, it had soothed the soreness of her heart. Captain Fort at all events did not despise her; and he was in trouble like herself. She felt that somehow by the look of his face, and the tone of his voice when he spoke of Leila. She quickened her pace. George's words came back to her: “If you're not ashamed of yourself, no one will be of you!” How easy to say! The old days, her school, the little half grown-up dances she used to go to, when everything was happy. Gone! All gone! But her meetings with Opinion were not over for the day, for turning again at last into the home Square, tired out by her three hours' ramble, she met an old lady whom she and Gratian had known from babyhood—a handsome dame, the widow of an official, who spent her days, which showed no symptom of declining, in admirable works. Her daughter, the widow of an officer killed at the Marne, was with her, and the two greeted Noel with a shower of cordial questions: So she was back from the country, and was she quite well again? And working at her hospital? And how was her dear father? They had thought him looking very thin and worn. But now Gratian was at home—How dreadfully the war kept husbands and wives apart! And whose was the dear little baby they had in the house?