Daphne had wandered off. I could see her white figure, misty against the rosy mauve of the cosmos; I wondered if she had lost interested memory of the Japanese holidays she had so much enjoyed. She had not spoken of them or recalled our former friendship and now, oblivious of me, I could hear her happily humming an old song. I felt chilled, grieved, and mystified; Daphne had been very much attached to me during the old days; I had looked eagerly forward to seeing her again, and now she treated me as though I were the most casual acquaintance, I thought; then took myself sharply in hand. “You’re stupid!” I accused mentally. Aloud, I said, “How happy Daphne seems! I suppose that you expect her husband back any time, now?” My friend set the teapot down; for a second, as she did not answer but sat gazing across the sunshiny garden. I thought that she had not heard. Then she turned and faced me. “No--” she commenced. Daphne had come up behind me. “Tea?” she asked, and took the cup that her mother had prepared for me, then, sitting down, she asked, “Were you at my wedding?” “No,” I answered; “tell me about it.” “Flowers! We had flowers, and there were flags. I had a white dress--” she began, then stopped blankly. Her mother took up the account. “We made it as pretty as we could,” she said. “Of course, last year, no one had much heart for celebrating except at a wedding! Daphne’s two cousins were the bridesmaids; they carried big loose bunches of moss-roses from this garden--somehow garden flowers seemed more suitable for weddings during those days when home, and all that homes stand for, were the real issue of the war.” She paused, then went on: “My husband came down from his training camp and gave Daphne away. I’d been working two days a week, for over three years, among the widows and mothers of sailors, at Deptford. Poor bereaved souls! Daphne’s wedding was the first thing that had awakened interest in some of them. They’d grown used to me; then fond of me; then part of my family; and they wanted to see my daughter’s wedding. They filled nearly half of the church--silent women, in their decent black, rightful heirs to the glory of the old flags draped against the pillars and the bronze commemorative tablets set in the walls.” * * * * * She seemed for a moment to have forgotten me, then, remembering, went on, “It hadn’t occurred to me until, as I sat in the old church waiting for Daphne’s wedding, that never, since England has had a navy, has there been a time when a son of our family has not served in it.” “A fine tradition,” I praised, “a glorious promise for the future years!” There was silence. Across it the bell in the cathedral tower called the hour; the chimes spoke.