"Not intentionally," he went on calmly, "but unconsciously. Only you’re posing just the same." He picked up his clubs and stood for a while looking at her thoughtfully. "I am going to play this hole," he announced at length, "and then I am going to tell you a story.... We’ll go and sit on top of that sand dune by the next green, and look out to sea, and listen to the oyster-catchers.... Poor little devils—those oyster-catchers! Have you ever noticed how they do all the work, and the gulls get all the oysters?" He came to his ball, and once again appealed to her for advice. "An iron or a baffy?" he queried. The girl took no notice, but stood with her back towards him. She heard the clear, sharp click of the club, and involuntarily she looked towards the green. "I wonder, my friend," she remarked, "if you’re as good at stories as you are at golf. You’re lying dead again." "I’m better," he returned confidently. "At least I shall be to-day. Will you smoke?" Ralton held out his cigarette case, and after a momentary hesitation she took one. "Come and let’s find a good spot," he said. "You’ll only put me off my putt again if we go to the green...." In silence they sought a sheltered hollow on the side of the dune, and it was not till Ruth Seaton had settled herself comfortably that she broke the silence. "I don’t often do this sort of thing, you know," she said, a trifle defiantly. "Nor do I," answered the man. "Let us regard the occasion as privileged." "Why do you think I’m posing?" she demanded. "Once upon a time," he began, ignoring her question, "there was a war on, up the road. A large number of people, to their great annoyance, got roped into the performance—amongst them a certain man, whom we will call Jones.... Good old British name, Jones. And Jones had taken unto himself a wife just before the war broke out." Ralton was staring at some gulls which circled and screamed over the shingly beach. "It seemed to Jones that nothing in the whole wide world could be quite as wonderful as the girl he had married. She was such a dear—such a pal; and sometimes he used to look ahead into the future, and just thank heaven for his marvellous luck. Then, as I said, came the war.... And Jones went. "Naturally he had no hesitation—no more had she. It was the only conceivable thing that any man could do. He trained along with the rest of the New Army, and he went to France." Ralton smiled. "You will notice that Jones and Mrs. Jones were very, very ordinary beings—like, shall we say, you and I." "Stories about ordinary beings are the only ones that really matter," said the girl. "What did Jones do in France?"