Hilda thought Colonel Bevan one of the cleverest men she had ever met. He had a quick nervous habit of speech, a clean-shaven alert face, with a smile that threw her off guard and opened the way for the Colonel to make his will prevail. He was enjoying a brilliant Parliamentary career. He had early thrown his lot with the Liberals, and had never found cause to regret it. He had been an under-secretary, and, when the war broke out, Kitchener had chosen him for his private emissary to the fighting line to report back to the Chief the exact situation. He was under no one else than K.; came directly to him with his findings, went from him to the front. "My dear young lady," the Colonel was saying, "you've forgotten that Ypres was the biggest fight of the war, one of the severest in all history. In a day or two, we got things in hand. You came down on a day when the result was just balanced. It was a toss-up whether the other fellows would come through or not. You see, you took us at a bad time." "How about the ambulances that weren't working?" asked Hilda. "The square was lined with them." "I know," responded the Colonel, "but the city was likely to be evacuated at any hour. As a matter of fact, those ambulances were used all night long after the bombardment began, emptying the three military hospitals, and taking the men to the train. We sent them down to Calais. You were most fortunate in getting through the lines at all. I shouldn't have blamed Captain Fitzgerald if he had ordered you back to Furnes." "Captain Fitzgerald!" exclaimed Hilda. "How did you know I was talking with him?" "I was there that day in Ypres," said the Colonel. "You were in Ypres," repeated Hilda, in astonishment. "I was there," he said; "I saw the whole thing. You came down upon our lines as if you had fallen out of a blue moon. What were we to do? A very charming young American lady, with a very good motor ambulance. It was a visitation, wasn't it? If we allowed it regularly, what would become of the fighting? Why, there are fifty volunteer organizations, with cars and nurses, cooling their heels in Boulogne. If we let one in, we should have to let them all come. There wouldn't be any room for troops." "But how about the wounded?" queried Hilda. "Where do they come in?" "In many cases, it doesn't hurt them to lie out in the open air," responded the Colonel; "that was proved in the South African War. The wounds often heal if you leave them alone in the open air. But you people come along and stir up and joggle them. In army slang, we call you the body snatchers." "What you say about the wounded is absurd," replied Hilda. "Tut, tut," chided the Colonel.