“There’s his dressing-room,” said Geraldine. “It’s on the first floor. I’ll lead the way,” and she put her hand on the Major’s arm. “It’s quite all right, Major,” she said, “I’m not going to break down—” and she actually smiled, a confident brilliant smile. To her amazement as Major Hunter turned away he burst out with, “Ah, my God! I’m so sorry.” Poor man. He was quite overcome. “Brandy afterwards,” thought Geraldine. “Not now, of course.” It was a painful moment when she heard those measured deliberate steps in the hall. But Geraldine, realizing this was not the moment, and there was nothing to be gained by it, refrained from looking. “This way, Major.” She skimmed on in front, up the stairs, along the passage; she flung open the door of Jimmie’s gay living breathing dressing-room and stood to one side—for Major Hunter, for the two stretcher-bearers. Only then she realized that it must be a scalp wound—some injury to the head. For there was nothing to be seen of Jimmie; the sheet was pulled right over.... THE END