What a cartoon! A whole series of Peter Smithers in moods of rage and humility; Peter shaking his fist; Peter threatened with firing squads and blank walls; Peter and old von Stein--there you had a contrast! Her eyes were dancing; she was laughing to herself as the pictures flitted before her vision, only to bite her lip when she noticed her mother's stare and lapse into the marking-time attitude which she had planned to take her through the meal. "Yes, of course we must invite Peter," said Madame Ribot. "Do write to Dr. Sanford about it." "Do, please!" chimed in Henriette. The vicar was looking to Phil for his lead in the matter. "By all means!" he said. Just then his glance happened to meet Helen's, and hers seemed to convey a repressed irony, which melted into that blankness of expression with its self-effacement that always puzzled him. Always the artist--always changing, he thought, while Henriette's charm was unvarying. "And you will stay on here?" he said to Henriette. "No. I, too, am going to do my bit," she replied. She was to take a course in nursing and go to France with Lady Truckleford's hospital unit. "You were so good at binding up the wounded soldier's arm in the gully that I foresee a great success," said Phil. She flushed slightly, averting her glance. Always her blushes were accompanied by the appropriate manner and gesture. When she looked back at him her face was in repose, her lips parted faintly, her eyes deep wells of grateful recollection--the Henriette whom he had carried from the roadside to the gully. "We shall both be in France," she said; "you fighting and I nursing--both doing our bit." In that deliciously pregnant second before she took a last sip of coffee her smile implied more than her words. When they went out on the lawn Madame Ribot asked Helen to fetch a shawl, and after she had placed its silken folds around her mother's shoulders she slipped away into the darkness, the others in their preoccupation not missing her. Madame Ribot at ease in a long chair, the others walked up and down until again came a motor's purr to the gateway and Lady Truckleford appeared to talk of war relief. She was bubblingly talkative, was Lady Truckleford, delightfully fussed over her hospital project, and demonstrative over Henriette, who seemed to have won her affections completely. It was quite late when she departed. "We'll renew that walk to-morrow, shall we?" Henriette said to Phil as they parted on the stairs. While she was undressing her mother came into the room. "You were very beautiful to-night, dearie," said Madame Ribot, taking her daughter's hands in hers. "And it's settled between you and Cousin Phil?" Henriette smiled. "That means that it is?" Again Henriette smiled, in a confident way.