Hunt-Goring looked bored, and the conversation languished. Into the silence came Peggy, fairy-footed, gay of mien. She flung impulsive arms around her mother's neck and pressed a soft cheek coaxingly to hers. "Mummy, Noel is comin' to teach me to ride this morning. I may go, mayn't I?" "My darling!" said Daisy, in consternation. "He never said anything to me about it." Peggy laughed, nodding her fair head with saucy assurance. "He promised, Mummy." "But, dearie," protested Daisy, "you can't ride Noel's horse. You'd be frightened, and so would Mummy." Peggy laughed again, the triumphant laugh of one who possesses private information. "Noel wouldn't let me be frightened," she said, with confidence. "Who is Noel?" asked Hunt-Goring. Peggy looked at him. She was not quite sure that she liked this friend of her mother's, and her look said as much. "Noel is an officer," she said proudly. "He's the pwettiest officer in the Regiment, and I love him." "Ha!" Hunt-Goring laughed. "You inherit your mother's tastes, my child." He looked across at Daisy. "She always preferred the pretty ones." "I know better now," said Daisy, without returning his look. He laughed again and stretched himself. "What became of that handsome cousin of yours who paid you a visit in the old M'war days?" "Do you mean Blake Grange?" Daisy's voice suddenly sounded so remote and cold that Peggy turned and regarded her in round-eyed astonishment. "Yes, that was the fellow. He got trapped at Wara along with General Roscoe and Nick Ratcliffe. What happened to him? Was he killed?" "No, not then." Slowly Daisy lifted her eyes; slowly she spoke. "He gave his life in England the following year to save some shipwrecked sailors." "Did he, though? Quite a hero!" Hunt-Goring's eyes met hers and insolently held them. "Were you present at the sacrifice?" "Yes," she answered him briefly, but there was tragedy in her eyes. "Ah!" said Hunt-Goring softly. "That made a difference to you." She did not answer; she leaned her cheek against Peggy's fair head in silence. "My dear lady," said Hunt-Goring, "you always took things too seriously." She gave a brief sigh, and took up her work again. "Life is rather a serious matter, I find," she said, with a smile that was scarcely gay. "Nonsense!" said Hunt-Goring. "Don't you find it so?" Daisy did not look up again; she stitched on rapidly with the child leaning against her knee. "I?" he said. "Oh, sometimes it seems so, when things don't fit. But I don't care, you know. I have a volatile mind, I am glad to say." "Are you never afraid of growing old?" asked Daisy. He laughed his soft, self-satisfied laugh. "Oh, really, you know, I don't think they will let me do that at present." "You never think of getting married?" asked Daisy. Hunt-Goring's smile changed a little, grew subtly harder. "Most people think of it at one time or another." he observed. "But personally I do not regard myself as a marrying man."