Ruth stood with her eyes fixed on the small packet. “Could you tell me—would you mind—how it happened?” she said. “A shell fell, burying some of his men. He went to help dig them out. Another shell fell on the same place. That was the end.” She looked up. Her eyes shone. “He was saving life, not taking it. Oh, I am glad.” She put the packet into the pocket of her linen skirt, gave him a little smile, and slipped away almost as a wraith might slip. She wanted, suddenly and overpoweringly, to get back to Thorpe.... Lady Condor, enjoying, as was her frequent custom, a second tea, said quite suddenly, in the middle of a lament on the difficulty of obtaining reliable cosmetics, “That is a clever woman!” Mr. Fothersley, who was honestly interested in cosmetics, tore his mind away from them and looked round. “Who?” he asked. “Miss Seer. I have been watching, after what you told me. You have not noticed? She has been in Roger’s study with him, only about ten minutes—yes—but she has done it without Nita knowing. Look, she is saying good-bye now. And dear Nita all smiles and quite pleasant. Nita was playing croquet of course but even then—— Perhaps it was just luck—but quite amazing.” Mr. Fothersley agreed. “Most fortunate,” he added. “You know, Arthur, she is not unattractive,” Lady Condor continued. “By no means in her _première jeunesse_ and can never have been a beauty. But there is something cool and restful-looking about her which some men might like. You never know, do you? I remember once Condor was quite infatuated for a few weeks, with a woman rather in the same style.” “But I thought you didn’t think——” began Mr. Fothersley. “Of course I don’t think—not really.” Lady Condor watched Ruth’s farewells through her glasses. “That’s what is so stupid about all these supposed affairs of Roger’s. There never is anything in them. So stupid——” She stopped suddenly and looked sideways at him, rather the look of a child found with a forbidden toy. “But——” began Mr. Fothersley, and stopped also. The two old friends looked at each other. “Arthur,” said Lady Condor. “I believe you are as bad as I am. Yes—don’t deny it. I saw the guilt in your eyes. So funny—just as I discovered my own. But so nice—we can be quite honest with each other.” “My dear Marion—I don’t——” Mr. Fothersley began to protest. “Dear Arthur, yes—you do. We both of us enjoy—yes—where are my glasses? What a mercy you did not tread on them. But where was I? Yes. We both of us enjoy these little excitements. Positively”—her shrewd old face lighted up with mischief—“positively I believe we miss it when Roger is not supposed to be carrying on with somebody. I discovered it in a flash just this very moment! I do hope we don’t really hope there is something in it all the time. It would be so dreadful of us.”