"No. Roy has never been communicative on the subject, although I believe he used to maintain a correspondence with her. The junior members of the mess were quite intrigued about it. I had almost forgotten her existence. What became of her?" "She couldn’t stand Papa’s peaceful principles, so ran away from home and came to London. I employed her to drive my car for some time; but she left me. Said the work wasn’t hard enough. She now supports herself on the stage, so as to have her days free for some sort of drudgery in a canteen." "And you think that she and Roy still— "Married, last August!" replied his lordship simply. "_What?_" "On the quiet—registry office! Wonderful, heavenly secret, and all that! How the young love a clandestine romance! And some of us never grow up!" added the old man complacently. *CHAPTER XIX* *THE LAST THROW* "I’m sorry, gentlemen," said the Divisional Commander, "but I can’t possibly let any unit proceed to rest areas at present. Our orders are to stand by, day and night, and be ready to move in any direction at an hour’s notice. By the way, this is quite an informal meeting, so ask any questions you like." "What is the latest news of the tactical situation, sir?" inquired the senior Brigadier, articulating the question that was on every one’s lips. We were gathered together at a Commanding Officers’ Meeting. The Division had just emerged from four months of winter trench-warfare in the north—only to be diverted from its search for well-earned repose by an urgent summons to repair southward without delay to its ancient stamping-ground behind Albert. We had marched all night, to be intercepted at dawn by orders to bivouac where we stood. I myself was summoned to the meeting, hastily convened in a village school five miles farther on. "It’s a pretty sticky business all round," said the General frankly. "The situation appears to be this. As you know, it has been obvious for months that the Boche has been meditating a tremendous offensive against some part of the British front. The Commander-in-Chief, not having sufficient troops to give adequate protection to the whole of his line— "Why _hasn’t_ he sufficient troops?" inquired a voice—the voice of the C.R.A., a fiery old gentleman with a monocle. He was a coeval of the General’s, so was qualified to act as cross-examiner for us lesser lights.