“I will, though,” she continued. “I shan’t have the opportunity of hearing many more of your words of wisdom for a time, as you go back on Monday. And you’ll be the panting prey of a gang of giggling girls at the garden party and dance to-morrow…. Why on earth must we muck up your last week-day with rotten ‘functions’. You don’t want to dance and you don’t want to garden-part in the least.” “Nit,” interrupted Dam. “ … Grumper means it most kindly but … we want you to ourselves the last day or two … anyhow….” “D’you want me to yourself, Piggy-wee?” asked Dam, trying to speak lightly and off-handedly. “Of course I do, you Ass. Shan’t see you for centuries and months. Nothing to do but weep salt tears till Christmas. Go into a decline or a red nose very likely. Mind you write to me twice a week at the very least,” replied Lucille, and added:— “Bet you that silly cat Amelia Harringport is in your pocket all to-morrow afternoon and evening. _All_ the Harringport crowd are coming from Folkestone, you know. If you run the clock-golf she’ll _adore_ clock-golf, and if you play tennis she’ll _adore_ tennis…. Can’t think what she sees in you….” “Don’t be cattish, Lusilly,” urged the young man. “‘Melier’s all right. It’s you she comes to see, of course.” To which, it is regrettable to have to relate, Lucille replied “Rodents”. Talk languished between the young people. Both seemed unwontedly ill at ease and nervous. “D’you get long between leaving Sandhurst and joining the Corps you’re going to distinguish, Dammy?” asked the girl after an uneasy and pregnant silence, during which they had furtively watched each other, and smiled a little uncomfortably and consciously when they had caught each other doing so. “Dunno. Sure not to. It’s a rotten world,” replied Dam gloomily. “I expect I shall come back and find you—” “Of course you’ll come back and find me! What do you mean, Dam?” said the girl. She flushed curiously as she interrupted him. Before he could reply she continued:— “You won’t be likely to have to go abroad directly you join your Regiment, will you?” “I shall try for the Indian Army or else for a British Regiment in India,” was the somewhat sullen answer. “Dam! What ever for?” “More money and less expenses.” “Dam! You mercenary little toad! You grasping, greedy hog!… Why! I thought….” Lucille gazed straight and searchingly at her life-long friend for a full minute and then rose to her feet. “Come to tea,” she said quietly, and led the way to the big lawn where, beneath an ancient cedar of Lebanon, the pompous Butterton and his solemn satellite were setting forth the tea “things”. Aunt Yvette presided at the tea-table and talked bravely to two woolly-witted dames from the Vicarage who had called to consult her anent the covering of a foot-stool “that had belonged to their dear Grandmamma”. (“‘Time somebody shot it,” murmured Dam to Lucille as he handed her cup.)