Her letter to Miss Bruce somehow restored to her that sense of her own adequacy which physical conditions of discomfort, against which she had felt unable to react, had almost destroyed. When Miss Jones came to work, a few minutes earlier than usual, she noted, with a regret that was not altogether impersonal, the cold, bluish aspect of her employer's complexion, and wondered if she dared infringe on Miss Delmege's cherished privilege of producing a foot-warmer. But she was not aware that her own excellent circulation, quite unmistakably displayed in her face and in an unusually white pair of capable hands, formed a distinct addition to the sum of calamities that had befallen Miss Vivian. XIII "Char, I've come to warn you," portentously said Captain Trevellyan a week later, entering the Canteen one evening. "That's very kind of you. Is it another air-raid?" "No; besides, you're all quite _blasées_ about them now. Miss Jones, single-handed, could cope with--" "What did you want to warn me about?" interrupted Char, with more abruptness than apprehension in her voice. "A rescue-party. Miss Bruce is so much upset about you, because she thinks the Hostel is killing you, that she's arranged a crusade to deliver you." "Miss Bruce means very well, but surely she knows by this time that I don't admit of interference with my work. What does she want to do?" "You'll see in a minute. I can hear the rescue-party at the door now, I think. They were close behind me." Char swung round abruptly, and was engulfed in a furry embrace on the instant. "My dear, pathetic martyr of a child! I've come to take you out of this at once. I hear you've been through the most unspeakable time at that Hostel!" Char disengaged herself from Mrs. Willoughby's clasp, and endeavoured to silence the intolerable yapping sound that was going on apparently beneath her feet. "That's Puffles--wicked little boy, be quiet. He _would_ come with me, though I told him that all good little boys went to bye-bye at this hour; but he can't bear me out of his sight, you know. Isn't that too quaint? Quiet, Puff! He understands every single word that's said to him, you know. 'Oo clever, clever little man, aren't 'oo? Everything except talk, 'oo can." "Come, come; he makes a pretty good shot at that, doesn't he?" Trevellyan said dryly. "Johnnie, go away and find my precious Lance-Corporal for me. He'll never forgive me if I don't go and talk to him; but you've such a crowd here tonight I can't see any one. Besides, I want to talk to this dear thing. Can't we _sit_, Char? My dear, never stand when you can possibly sit. That's been my rule _all_ my life, and so I've kept my figure. Not that I'm as slim as you are; but, then, it simply wouldn't be decent if I were, at my age. My Lewis always says that my figure is exactly right, but I dare say he's biassed. Now, dear, what about _you_?"