Baltazar, desiring to bring brightness into the boy’s life, had brought it with a vengeance. He had not heard of Dorothy. He had no idea of the state of mind of the Rosaline-rejected young Romeo of a son of his. Unconscious of peril, he cast him into the furnace. “An interesting type. A woman of the moment,” commented placid and philosophic Fifty. “Oh! she doth teach the torches to burn bright!” sang Twenty. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. See the part of Romeo _passim_. Away with Rosaline! His “love did read by rote and could not spell.” Rosaline-Dorothy was blotted out of his Book of Existence for ever. “What are your plans?” asked Lady Edna, as soon as the little cloud had melted beneath the very eager sunshine. “As soon as I get a new foot I’ll spend every day at the War Office until they give me something to do.” “You oughtn’t to have any difficulty. There are lots of billets going, I know.” “Yes. But what kind? I’m not going to sit in an office all day filling up forms. I want to get a man’s job. Active service again.” “How splendid of you!” Her commendation was something to live for. After the British way, however, he deprecated claims to splendour. “Not a bit. It’s only that one feels rather rotten doing nothing while other fellows are fighting. They may take me in the Flying Corps. But I’d sooner go where I belong—to the job I know. Perhaps I’m rather an ass to think of it.” “Not at all. Where there’s a will there’s a way.” “I’m going to have a try for it, anyhow,” said he. He thought vindictively of Dorothy’s light patronage, which would have resulted in a soft job. No soft jobs for him. He had had a lucky escape. Dorothy and her inconsequence and flapperish immaturity, and the paralysing work that General Mackworth would doubtless have found for him—recording issues of bully-beef or keeping stock of dead men’s kits! Never in life! In those bright eyes raining influence—no, they were not bright—they were muffled stars—that was the fascination of them—he would make himself something to be considered, respected, admired. He would be the one one-footed man in the British Army to arrive at greatness. The splendid end compelled the means. Until that moment he had never contemplated an heroic continuance of his military career. Lady Edna, pathetically young, in spite of myriad ageing worldlinesses, including a half-humorous, half-repellant marriage of calculation, was caught by his enthusiasm. “I should love to see you back again!” “That alone is enough,” said he, “to make me move heaven and earth to get there.” She flushed beneath his downright eyes and hid a moment’s embarrassment by a laugh. “That’s a very pretty speech,” she said lightly. “I’m glad to find the Army is going back to its old tradition of manners.” “I perfectly agree with you,” exclaimed Baltazar, for her tone had been purposely pitched higher than that of the preceding conversation. “I’ve been greatly struck by it.”