Since the war broke out, his zest for life has become almost terrible. He can scarcely lift a newspaper and read of a hero without remembering that he knows some one of the same name. The Soldiers’ Rest he is connected with was once a china emporium, and (mark my words), he had bought his tea service at it. Such is life when you are in the thick of it. Sometimes he feels that he is part of a gigantic spy drama. In the course of his extraordinary comings and goings he meets with Great Personages, of course, and is the confidential recipient of secret news. Before imparting the news he does not, as you might expect, first smile expansively; on the contrary, there comes over his face an awful solemnity, which, however, means the same thing. When divulging the names of the personages, he first looks around to make sure that no suspicious character is about, and then, lowering his voice, tells you, ‘I had that from Mr. Farthing himself--he is the secretary of the Bethnal Green Branch,--h’sh!’ There is a commotion about finding a worthy chair for the reverent, and there is also some furtive pulling down of sleeves, but he stands surveying the ladies through his triumphant smile. This amazing man knows that he is about to score again. MR. WILLINGS, waving aside the chairs, ‘I thank you. But not at all. Friends, I have news.’ MRS. MICKLEHAM. ‘News?’ THE HAGGERTY WOMAN. ‘From the Front?’ MRS. TWYMLEY. ‘My Alfred, sir?’ They are all grown suddenly anxious--all except the hostess, who knows that there can never be any news from the Front for her. MR. WILLINGS. ‘I tell you at once that all is well. The news is for Mrs. Dowey.’ She stares. MRS. DOWEY. ‘News for me?’ MR. WILLINGS. ‘Your son, Mrs. Dowey--he has got five days’ leave.’ She shakes her head slightly, or perhaps it only trembles a little on its stem. ‘Now, now, good news doesn’t kill.’ MRS. TWYMLEY. ‘We’re glad, Mrs. Dowey.’ MRS. DOWEY. ‘You’re sure?’ MR. WILLINGS. ‘Quite sure. He has arrived.’ MRS. DOWEY. ‘He is in London?’ MR. WILLINGS. ‘He is. I have spoken to him.’ MRS. MICKLEHAM. ‘You lucky woman.’ They might see that she is not looking lucky, but experience has told them how differently these things take people. MR. WILLINGS, marvelling more and more as he unfolds his tale, ‘Ladies, it is quite a romance. I was in the----’ he looks around cautiously, but he knows that they are all to be trusted--‘in the Church Army quarters in Central Street, trying to get on the track of one or two of our missing men. Suddenly my eyes--I can’t account for it--but suddenly my eyes alighted on a Highlander seated rather drearily on a bench, with his kit at his feet.’ THE HAGGERTY WOMAN. ‘A big man?’