She was prattling away, but I thought it time to make one or two enquiries. I remember saying to poor Ruth--I forget in what connection; life is one long succession of these needless, irritating little encounters--I remember saying that Phyllida was in the position of a girl with no mother. It's not that Ruth and Brackenbury aren't _fond_ of her, but they take no trouble... I asked what our young paragon's regiment was, and you'll hardly believe me if I tell you that it was one I had never heard of. Will knew, of course, but then, on the staff, these things are brought to your notice... "And what is he in civil life?," I asked. Phyllida didn't know. His father, I think she told me, was a surveyor, and she presumed that he intended to be a surveyor too. And an excellent profession, I should imagine, with the big estates being broken up and the properties changing hands everywhere. Brackenbury had an offer for the Hall--some wealthy contractor... I couldn't help smiling to think how our father would have dealt with him. Brackenbury let him off far too lightly, I thought, and tried to justify himself to me by saying that it was a very tempting offer... As if _they_ needed money... I had made up my mind at the outset to do nothing precipitate. The war has made girls quite dangerously romantic, and any opposition might have created--artificially--a most undesirable attachment. I knew that Phyllida had these young officers through her hands in dozens; and, though I was naturally anxious, I knew that in a few weeks or months our paragon would be back in Flanders or Devonshire--out of Christine Malleson's hospital, at all events. I commended my spirit, so to say...