Amaryllis arrived from Ardayre the next afternoon, after John's medical board had been squared into pronouncing him fit for active service--and he met his wife at the station and was particularly solicitous of her well-being. He seemed to be unusually glad to see her, and put his arm round her in the motor driving to Brook Street. What would she like to do? They could not, of course, go to the theatre, but if she would rather they could go out to a restaurant to dine--there were going to be all kinds of difficulties about food. Amaryllis, who responded immediately to the smallest advance on his part, glowed now with fond sweetness. She had been so miserable without him; so crushed and upset by the thought of war, and his possible participation in it. All the long night, alone at Ardayre, she had tried to realise what it all would mean. It was too stupendous, she could not grasp it as yet, it was just a blank horror. And now to be in the motor and close to him, and everything ordinary and as usual seemed to drive the hideous fact further and further away. She would not face it for to-night, she would try to be happy and banish the remembrance. No one knew what was happening, nor if the Expeditionary Force had or had not crossed to France. John asked her again what she would like to do. She did not want to go out at all, she told him; if the kitchenmaid and Murcheson could find them something to eat she would much rather dine alone with him, like a regular old Darby and Joan pair--and afterwards she would play nice things to him, and John agreed. When she came down ready for dinner, she was radiant; she had put on a new and ravishing tea-gown and her grey eyes were shining with a winsome challenge, and her beautiful skin was brilliant with health and freshness. A man could not have desired a more delectable creature to call his own. John thought so and at dinner expanded and told her so. He was not a practised lover; women had played a very small part in his life--always too filled with work and the one dominating idea to make room for them. He had none of the tender graciousness ready at his command which Denzil would very well have known how to show. But he loved Amaryllis, and this was the first time he had permitted the expression of his emotion to appear. She became ever more fascinating, and at length unconscious passion grew in her glance. John said some rather clumsy but loving things, and when they went back to the library he slipped his arm round her, and drew her to his side. "I love to be near you, John," she whispered; "I like your being so tall and so distinguished-looking. I like your clothes--they are so well made--" and then she wrinkled her pretty nose--"and I adore the smell of the stuff you put on your hair! Oh! I don't know--I just want to be in your arms!"