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Captain Jim

<h2 id="id00848" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER VIII</h2> <h5 id="id00849">ASSORTED GUESTS</h5> "I beg your pardon—is this Homewood?" Norah, practising long putts at a hole on the far side of the terrace, turned with a start. The questioner was in uniform, bearing a captain's three stars. He was a short, strongly-built young man, with a square, determined face. "Yes, this is Homewood," she answered. "Did you—have you come to see my father?" "I wrote to him last week," the officer said—"from France. It's Miss Linton, isn't it? I'm in your brother's regiment. My name is Garrett." "Oh—I've heard Jim speak of you ever so many times," she cried. She put out her hand, and felt it taken in a close grasp. "But we haven't had your letter. Dad would have told me if one had come." Captain Garrett frowned. "What a nuisance!" he ejaculated. "Letters from the front are apt to take their time, but I did think a week would have been long enough. I wrote directly I knew my leave was coming. You see—your brother told me——" He stopped awkwardly. Intelligence suddenly dawned upon Norah. "Why, you're a Tired Person!" she exclaimed, beaming. "Not at all, I assure you," replied he, looking a trifle amazed. Norah laughed. "I don't mean quite that," she said—"at least I'll explain presently. But you have come to stay, haven't you?" "Well—your brother was good enough to——" He paused again. "Yes, of course. Jim told you we wanted you to come. This is the Home for Tired People, you see; we want to get as many of you as we can and make you fit. And you're our very first in the house, which will make it horribly dull for you." "Indeed, it won't," said Garrett gallantly. "Well, we'll do our best for you. I'm so very sorry you weren't met. Did you leave your luggage at the station?" "Yes. You're quite sure it's convenient to have me, Miss Linton? I could easily go back to London." "Good gracious, no!" said Norah. "Why, you're a godsend! We weren't justifying our name. But you will be dull to-day, because Dad has gone to London, and there's only me." Norah's grammar was never her strong point. "And little Geoff Hunt was coming to lunch with me. Will it bore you very much to have a small boy here?" "Rather not!" said Garrett. "I like them—got some young brothers of my own in Jamaica." "Well, that's all right. Now come in, and Allenby will show you your room. The car will bring your things up when it goes to meet Dad." Norah had often rehearsed in her own mind what she would do when the first Tired Person came. The rooms were all ready—"in assorted sizes," Allenby said. Norah had awful visions of eight or ten guests arriving together, and in her own mind characterized the business of allotting them to their rooms as a nasty bit of drafting. But the first guest had tactfully come alone, and there was no doubt that he deserved the blue room—a delightful little corner room looking south and west, with dainty blue hangings and wall-paper, and a big couch that beckoned temptingly to a tired man. Captain Garrett had had fourteen months in France without a break. He had spent the previous night in the leave-train, only pausing in London for a hasty "clean-up." The lavender-scented blue room was like a glimpse of Heaven to him. He did not want to leave it—only that downstairs Jim Linton's sister awaited him, and it appeared that the said sister was a very jolly girl, with a smile like her brother's cheerful grin, and a mop of brown curls framing a decidedly attractive face. Bob Garrett decided that there were better things than even the blue room, and, having thankfully accepted Allenby's offer of a hot tub, presently emerged from the house, much improved in appearance. This time Norah was not alone. A small boy was with her, who greeted the newcomer with coolness, and then suddenly fell upon him excitedly, recognizing the badge on his collar. "You're in Daddy's regiment!" he exclaimed. "Am I?" Garrett smiled at him. "Who is Daddy?" "He's Major Hunt," said Geoff; and had the satisfaction of seeing the new officer become as eager as he could have wished. "By Jove! Truly, Miss Linton?—does Major Hunt live here? I'd give something to see him." "He lives just round the corner of that bush," said Norah, laughing. She indicated a big rhododendron. "Is he at home, Geoff?" "No—he's gone to London," Geoff answered. "But he'll be back for tea." "Then we'll go and call on Mrs. Hunt and ask her if we may come to tea," Norah said. They strolled off, Geoff capering about them. "I don't know Mrs. Hunt," Garrett said. "You see I only joined the regiment when war broke out—I had done a good bit of training, so they gave me a commission among the first. I didn't see such a lot of the Major, for he was doing special work in Ireland for awhile; but he was a regular brick to me. We're all awfully sick about his being smashed up." "But he's going to get better," Norah said cheerfully. "He's ever so much better now." They came out in front of the cottage, and discovered Mrs. Hunt playing hide-and-seek with Alison and Michael—with Alison much worried by Michael's complete inattention to anything in the shape of a rule. Michael, indeed, declined to be hid, and played on a steady line of his own, which consisted in toddling after his mother whenever she was in sight, and catching her with shrill squeaks of joy. It was perfectly satisfactory to him, but somewhat harassing to a stickler for detail. Mrs. Hunt greeted Garrett warmly. "Douglas has often talked about you—you're from Jamaica, aren't you?" she said. "He will be so delighted that you have come. Yes, of course you must come to tea, Norah. I'd ask you to lunch, only I'm perfectly certain there isn't enough to eat! And Geoff would be so disgusted at being done out of his lunch with you, which makes me think it's not really your society he wants, but the fearful joy of Allenby behind his chair." "I don't see why you should try to depress me," Norah laughed. "Well, we'll all go for a ride after lunch, and get back in time for tea, if you'll put up with me in a splashed habit—the roads are very muddy. You ride, I suppose, Captain Garrett?" "Oh, yes, thanks," Garrett answered. "It's the only fun I've had in France since the battalion went back into billets: a benevolent gunner used to lend me a horse—both of us devoutly hoping that I wouldn't be caught riding it." "Was it a nice horse?" Geoffrey demanded. "Well, you wouldn't call it perfect, old chap. I think it was suffering from shell-shock: anyhow, it had nerves. It used to shake all over when it saw a Staff-officer!" He grinned. "Or perhaps I did. On duty, that horse was as steady as old Time: but when it was alone, it jumped out of its skin at anything and everything. However, it was great exercise to ride it!" "We'll give him Killaloe this afternoon, Geoff," said Norah. "Come on, and we'll show him the stables now." They bade au revoir to Mrs. Hunt and sauntered towards the stables. On the way appeared a form in a print frock, with flying cap and apron-strings. "Did you want me, Katty?" Norah asked. "There's a tallygrum after coming, miss, on a bicycle. And the boy's waiting." Norah knitted her brows over the sheet of flimsy paper. "There's no answer, Katty, tell the boy." She turned to Garrett, laughing. "You're not going to be our only guest for long. Dad says he's bringing two people down to-night—Colonel and Mrs. West. Isn't it exciting! I'll have to leave you to Geoff while I go and talk to the housekeeper. Geoff, show Captain Garrett all the horses—Jones is at the stables." "Right!" said Geoffrey, bursting with importance. "Come along, Captain Garrett. I'll let you pat my pony, if you like!" Mrs. Atkins looked depressed at Norah's information. "Dear me! And dinner ordered for three!" she said sourly. "It makes a difference. And of course I really had not reckoned on more than you and Mr. Linton." "I can telephone for anything you want," said Norah meekly. "The fish will not be sufficient," said the housekeeper. "And other things likewise. I must talk to the cook. It would be so much easier if one knew earlier in the day. And rooms to get ready, of course?" "The big pink room with the dressing-room," Norah said. "Oh, I suppose the maids can find time. Those Irish maids have no idea of regular ways: I found Bride helping to catch a fowl this morning when she should have been polishing the floor. Now, I must throw them out of routine again." Norah suppressed a smile. She had been a spectator of the spirited chase after the truant hen, ending with the appearance of Mrs. Atkins, full of cold wrath; and she had heard Bride's comment afterwards. "Is it her, with her ould routheen? Yerra, that one wouldn't put a hand to a hin, and it eshcapin'!" "Yes," said Mrs. Atkins. "Extraordinary ways. Very untrained, I must say." "But you find that they do their work, don't they?" Norah asked. "Oh, after a fashion," said the housekeeper, with a sniff—unwilling to admit that Bride and Katty got through more work in two hours than Sarah in a morning, were never unwilling, and accepted any and every job with the utmost cheerfulness. "Their ways aren't my ways. Very well, Miss Linton. I'll speak to the cook." Feeling somewhat battered, Norah escaped. In the hall she met Katty, who jumped—and then broke into a smile of relief. "I thought 'twas the Ould Thing hersilf," she explained. "She'd ate the face off me if she found me here again—'tis only yesterday she was explaining to me that a kitchenmaid has no business in the hall, at all. But Bridie was tellin' me ye've the grandest ould head of an Irish elk here, and I thought I'd risk her, to get a sight of it." "It's over there," Norah said, pointing to a mighty pair of horns on the wall behind the girl. Katty looked at it in silence. "It's quare to think of the days when them great things walked the plains of Ireland," she said at length. "Thank you, miss: it done me good to see it." "How are you getting on, Katty?" Norah asked. "Yerra, the best in the world," said Katty cheerfully. "Miss de Lisle's that kind to me—I'll be the great cook some day, if I kape on watchin' her. She's not like the fine English cooks I've heard of, that 'ud no more let you see how they made so much as a pudding than they'd fly over the moon. 'Tis Bridie has the bad luck, to be housemaid." Norah knew why, and sighed. There were moments when her housekeeper seemed a burden too great to be borne. "But Mr. Allenby's very pleasant with her, and she says wance you find out that Sarah isn't made of wood she's not so bad. She found that out when she let fly a pillow at her, and they bedmaking," said Katty, with a joyous twinkle. "'Tis herself had great courage to do that same, hadn't she, now, miss?" "She had, indeed," Norah said, laughing. The spectacle of the stiff Sarah, overwhelmed with a sudden pillow, was indeed staggering. "And then, haven't we Con to cheer us up if we get lonely?" said Katty. "And Misther Jones and the groom—they're very friendly. And the money we'll have to send home! But you'd be wishful for Ireland, no matter how happy you'd be." The telephone bell rang sharply, and Norah ran to answer it. It was Jim. "That you, Nor?" said his deep voice. "Good—I'm in a hurry. I say, can you take in a Tired Person to-night?" Norah gasped. "Oh, certainly!" she said, grimly. "Who is it, Jimmy? Not you or Wally?" "No such luck," said her brother. "It's a chap I met last night; he's just out of a convalescent home, and a bit down on his luck." His voice died away in a complicated jumble of whir and buzz, the bell rang frantically, and Norah, like thousands of other people, murmured her opinion of the telephone and all its works. "Are you there?" she asked. "B-z-z-z-z-z!" said the telephone. Norah waited a little, anxiously debating whether it would be more prudent to ring up herself and demand the last speaker, or to keep quiet and trust to Jim to regain his connexion. Finally, she decided to ring: and was just about to put down the receiver when Jim's voice said, "Are you there?" in her ear sharply, and once more collapsed into a whir. She waited again, in dead silence. At last she rang. Nothing happened, so she rang again. "Number, please?" said a bored voice. "Some one was speaking to me—you've cut me off," said Norah frantically. "I've been trying to get you for the last ten minutes. You shouldn't have rung off," said the voice coldly. "Wait, please." Norah swallowed her feelings and waited. "Hallo! Hallo! Hallo!—oh, is that you, Norah?" said Jim, his tone crisp with feeling. "Isn't this an unspeakable machine! And I'm due in three minutes—I must fly. Sure you can have Hardress? He'll get to you by the 6.45. Are you all well? Yes, we're all right. Sorry, I'll get told off horribly if I'm late. Good-bye." Norah hung up the receiver, and stood pondering. She wished the telephone had not chosen to behave so abominably; only the day before Wally had rung her up and had spent quite half an hour in talking cheerful nonsense, without any hindrance at all. Norah wished she knew a little more about her new "case"; if he were very weak—if special food were needed. It was very provoking. Also, there was Mrs. Atkins to be faced—not a prospect to be put off, since, like taking Gregory's Powder, the more you looked at it the worse it got. Norah stiffened her shoulders and marched off to the housekeeper's room. "Oh, Mrs. Atkins," she said pleasantly, "there's another officer coming this evening." Mrs. Atkins turned, cold surprise in her voice. "Indeed, miss. And will that be all, do you think?" "I really don't know," said Norah recklessly. "That depends on my father, you see." "Oh. May I ask which room is to be prepared?" "The one next Captain Garrett's, please. I can do it, if the maids are too busy." Mrs. Atkins froze yet more. "I should very much rather you did not, miss, thank you," she said. "Just as you like," said Norah. "Con can take a message for anything you want; he is going to the station." "Thank you, miss, I have already telephoned for larger supplies," said the housekeeper. The conversation seemed to have ended, so Norah departed. "What did she ever come for?" she asked herself desperately. "If she didn't want to housekeep, why does she go out as a housekeeper?" Turning a corner she met the butler. "Oh, Allenby," she said. "We'll have quite a houseful to-night!" She told him of the expected arrivals, half expecting to see his face fall. Allenby, on the contrary, beamed. "It'll be almost like waiting in Mess!" he said. "When you're used to officers, miss, you can't get on very well without them." He looked in a fatherly fashion at Norah's anxious face. "All the arrangements made, I suppose, miss?" "Oh, yes, I think they're all right," said Norah, feeling anything but confident. "Allenby—I don't know much about managing things; do you think it's too much for the house?" "No, miss, it isn't," Allenby said firmly. "Just you leave it all to me, and don't worry. Nature made some people bad-tempered, and they can't 'elp it. I'll see that things are all right; and as for dinner, all that worries Miss de Lisle, as a rule, is, that she ain't got enough cooking to do!" He bent the same fatherly glance on her that evening as she came into the hall when the hoot of the motor told that her father and his consignment of Tired People were arriving. Norah had managed to forget her troubles during the afternoon. A long ride had been followed by a very cheerful tea at Mrs. Hunt's, from which she and Garrett had returned only in time for Norah to slip into a white frock and race downstairs to meet her guests. She hoped, vaguely, that she looked less nervous than she felt. The hall door opened, letting in a breath of the cold night air. "Ah, Norah—this is my daughter, Mrs. West," she heard her father's voice; and then she was greeting a stout lady and a grey-haired officer. "Dear me!" said the lady. "I expected some one grown up. How brave! Fancy you, only—what is it—a flapper! And don't you hate us all very much? I should, I'm sure!" Over her shoulder Norah caught a glimpse of her father's face, set in grim lines. She checked a sudden wild desire to laugh, and murmured something civil. "Our hostess, Algernon," said the stout lady, and Norah shook hands with Colonel West, who was short and stout and pompous, and said explosively, "Haw! Delighted! Cold night, what?"—which had the effect of making his hostess absolutely speechless. Somehow with the assistance of Allenby and Sarah, the newcomers were "drafted" to their rooms, and Norah and her father sought cover in the morning-room. "You look worn, Daddy," said his daughter, regarding him critically. "I feel it," said David Linton. He sank into an armchair and felt hurriedly for his pipe. "Haven't had a chance of a smoke for hours. They're a little trying, I think, Norah." "Where did you get them?" Norah asked, perching on the arm of his chair, and dropping a kiss on the top of his head. "From the hospital where the boys were. Colonel West has been ill there. Brain-fever, Mrs. West says, but he doesn't look like it. Anyhow, they're hard up, I believe; their home is broken up and they have five or six children at school, and a boy in Gallipoli. They seemed very glad to come." "Well, that's all right," said Norah practically. "We can't expect to have every one as nice as the Hunts. But they're not the only ones, Dad: Captain Garrett is here, and Jim is sending some one called Hardress by the 6.45—unfortunately the telephone didn't allow Jim to mention what he is! I hope he isn't a brigadier." "I don't see Jim hob-nobbing to any extent with brigadiers," said her father. "I say, this is rather a shock. Four in a day!" "Yes, business is looking up," said Norah, laughing. "Captain Garrett is a dear—and he can ride, Dad. I had him out on Killaloe. I'm a little uneasy about the Hardress person, because he's just out of a convalescent home, and Jim seemed worried about him. But the telephone went mad, and Jim was in a hurry, so I didn't get any details." "Oh, well, we'll look after him. How is the household staff standing the invasion?" "Every one's very happy except Mrs. Atkins, and she is plunged in woe. Even Sarah seems interested. I haven't dared to look at Miss de Lisle, but Allenby says she is cheerful." "Has Mrs. Atkins been unpleasant?" "Well," said Norah, and laughed, "you wouldn't call her exactly a bright spot in the house. But she has seen to things, so that is all that counts." "I won't have that woman worry you," said Mr. Linton firmly. "I won't have you worried about anything," said Norah. "Don't think about Mrs. Atkins, or you won't enjoy your tea. And here's Allenby." "Tea!" said Mr. Linton, as the butler entered, bearing a little tray. "I thought I was too late for such a luxury—but I must say I'm glad of it." "I sent some upstairs, sir," said Allenby, placing a little table near his master. "Just a little toast, sir, it being so late. And if you please, miss, Miss de Lisle would be glad if you could spare a moment in the kitchen." The cook-lady, redder than ever, was mixing a mysterious compound in a bowl. Katty, hugely important, darted hither and thither. A variety of savoury smells filled the air. "I just wanted to tell you," said Miss de Lisle confidentially, "that I'm making a special souffle of my own, and Allenby will put it in front of you. Promise me"—she leaned forward earnestly—"to use a thin spoon to help it, and slide it in edgeways as gently as—as if you were stroking a baby! It's just a perfect thing—I wouldn't sleep to-night if you used a heavy spoon and plunged it in as if it was a suet-pudding!" "I won't forget," Norah promised her, resisting a wild desire to laugh. "That's a dear," said the cook-lady, disregarding the relations of employer and employed, in the heat of professional enthusiasm. "And you'll help it as quickly as possible, won't you? It will be put on the table after all the other sweets. Every second will be of importance!" She sighed. "A souffle never gets a fair chance. It ought, of course, to be put on a table beside the kitchen-range, and cut within two seconds of leaving the oven. With a hot spoon!" She sighed tragically. "We'll do our best for it," Norah promised her. "I'm sure it will be lovely. Shall I come and tell you how it looked, afterwards?" Miss de Lisle beamed. "Now, that would be very kind of you," she said. "It's so seldom that any one realizes what these things mean to the cook. A souffle like this is an inspiration—like a sonata to a musician. But no one ever dreams of the cook; and the most you can expect from a butler is, 'Oh, it cut very nice, ma'am, I'm sure. Very nice!'" She made a despairing gesture. "But some people would call Chopin 'very nice'!" "Miss de Lisle," said Norah earnestly, "some day when we haven't any guests and Dad goes to London, we'll give every one else a holiday and you and I will have lunch here together. And we'll have that souffle, and eat it beside the range!" For a moment Miss de Lisle had no words. "Well!" she said at length explosively. "And I was so horrible to you at first!" To Norah's amazement and dismay a large tear trickled down one cheek, and her mouth quivered like a child's. "Dear me, how foolish I am," said the poor cook-lady, rubbing her face with her overall, and thereby streaking it most curiously with flour. "Thank you very much, my dear. Even if we never manage it, I won't forget that you said it!" Norah found herself patting the stalwart shoulder. "Indeed, we'll manage it," she said. "Now, don't you worry about anything but that lovely souffle." "Oh, the souffle is assured now," said Miss de Lisle, beating her mixture scientifically. "Now I shall have beautiful thoughts to put into it! You have no idea what that means. Now, if I sat here mixing, and thought of, say, Mrs. Atkins, it would probably be as heavy as lead!" She sighed. "I believe, Miss Linton, I could teach you something of the real poetry of cooking. I'm sure you have the right sort of soul!" Norah looked embarrassed. "Jim says I've no soul beyond mustering cattle," she said, laughing. "We'll prove him wrong, some day, Miss de Lisle, shall we? Now I must go: the motor will be back presently." She turned, suddenly conscious of a baleful glance. "Oh!—Mrs. Atkins!" she said feebly. "I came," said Mrs. Atkins stonily, "to see if any help was needed in the kitchen. Perhaps, as you are here, miss, you would be so good as to ask the cook?" "Oh—nothing, thank you," said Miss de Lisle airily, over her shoulder. Mrs. Atkins sniffed, and withdrew. "That's done it, hasn't it?" said the cook-lady. "Well, don't worry, my dear; I'll see you through anything." A white-capped head peeped in. "'Tis yersilf has all the luck of the place, Katty O'Gorman!" said Bride enviously. "An' that Sarah won't give me so much as a look-in, above: if it was to turn down the beds, itself, it's as much as she'll do to let me. Could I give you a hand here at all, Miss de Lisle? God help us, there's Miss Norah!" "If 'tis the way you'd but let her baste the turkey for a minyit, she'd go upstairs reshted in hersilf," said Katty in a loud whisper. "The creature's destroyed with bein' out of all the fun." "Oh, come in—if you're not afraid of Mrs. Atkins," said Miss de Lisle. Norah had a vision of Bride, ecstatically grasping a basting-ladle, as she made her own escape. Allenby was just shutting the hall-door as she turned the corner. A tall man in a big military greatcoat was shaking hands with her father. "Here's Captain Hardress, Norah." Norah found herself looking up into a face that at the first glance she thought one of the ugliest she had ever seen. Then the newcomer smiled, and suddenly the ugliness seemed to vanish. "It's too bad to take you by storm this way. But your brother wouldn't hear of anything else." "Of course not," said Mr. Linton. "My daughter was rather afraid you might be a brigadier. She loses her nerve at the idea of pouring tea for anything above a colonel." "Indeed, a colonel's bad enough," said Norah ruefully. "I'm accustomed to people with one or two stars: even three are rather alarming!" She shot a glance at his shoulder, laughing. "I'm sure you're not half as alarmed as I was at coming," said Captain Hardress. "I've been so long in hospital that I've almost forgotten how to speak to any one except doctors and nurses." His face, that lit up so completely when he smiled, relapsed into gloom. "Well, you mustn't stand here," Norah said. "Please tell me if you'd like dinner in your room, or if you'd rather come down." She had a sudden vision of Mrs. West's shrill voice, and decided that she might be tiring to this man with the gaunt, sad face. Hardress hesitated. "I think you'd better stay upstairs," said David Linton. "Just for to-night—till you feel rested. I'll come and smoke a pipe with you after dinner, if I may." "I should like that awfully," said Hardress. "Well, if you're sure it would not be too much trouble, Miss Linton——?" "It's not a scrap of trouble," she said. "Allenby will show you the way. See that Captain Hardress has a good fire, Allenby—and take some papers and magazines up." She looked sadly after the tall figure as it limped away. He was not much older than Jim, but his face held a world of bitter experience. "You mustn't let the Tired People make you unhappy, mate," said her father. He put his arm round her as they went into the drawing-room to await their guests. "Remember, they wouldn't be here if they didn't need help of some sort." "I won't be stupid," said Norah. "But he has such a sorry face, Dad, when he doesn't smile." "Then our job is to keep him smiling," said David Linton practically. There came a high-pitched voice in the hall, and Mrs. West swept in, her husband following at her heels. To Norah's inexperienced eyes, she was more gorgeous than the Queen of Sheba, in a dress of sequins that glittered and flashed with every movement. Sarah, who had assisted in her toilette, reported to the kitchen that she didn't take much stock in a dress that was moulting its sequins for all the world like an old hen; but Norah saw no deficiencies, and was greatly impressed by her guest's magnificence. She was also rather overcome by her eloquence, which had the effect of making her feel speechless. Not that that greatly mattered, as Mrs. West never noticed whether any one else happened to speak or remain silent, so long as they did not happen to drown her own voice. "Such a lovely room!" she twittered. "So comfortable. And I feel sure there is an exquisite view. And a fire in one's bedroom—in war-time! Dear me, I feel I ought to protest, only I haven't sufficient moral courage; and those pine logs are too delicious. Perhaps you are burning your own timber?—ah, I thought so. That makes it easier for me to refrain from prodding up my moral courage—ha, ha!" Norah hunted for a reply, and failed to find one. "And you are actually Australians!" Mrs. West ran on. "So interesting! I always do think that Australians are so original—so quaintly original. It must be the wild life you lead. So unlike dear, quiet little England. Bushrangers, and savage natives, and gold-mining. How I should like to see it all!" "Oh, you would find other attractions as well, Mrs. West," Mr. Linton told her. "The 'wild life in savage places' phase of Australian history is rather a back number." "Oh, quite—quite," agreed his guest. "We stay-at-homes know so little of the other side of the world. But we are not aloof—not uninterested. We recognize the fascination of it all. The glamour—yes, the glamour. Gordon's poems bring it all before one, do they not? Such a true Australian! You must be very proud of him." "We are—but he wasn't an Australian," said Mr. Linton. The lady sailed on, unheeding. "Yes. The voice of the native-born. And your splendid soldiers, too!—I assure you I thrill whenever I meet one of the dear fellows in the street in London. So tall and stern under their great slouch-hats. Outposts of Empire, that is what I say to myself. Outposts here, in the heart of our dear little Surrey! Linking the ends of the earth, as it were. The strangeness of it all!" Garrett, who had made an unobtrusive entrance some little time before, and had been enjoying himself hugely in the background, now came up to the group on the hearthrug and was duly introduced. "Lately from France, did you say?" asked Mrs. West. "Yesterday! Fancy! Like coming from one world into another, is it not, Captain Garrett? To be only yesterday 'mid the thunder of shot and shell out yonder; and to-night in——" "In dear little Surrey," said Garrett innocently. "Quite. Such a peaceful county—war seems so remote. You must tell me some of your experiences to-morrow." "Oh, I never have any," said Garrett hastily. "Now, now!" She shook a playful forefinger at him. "I was a mother to my husband's regiment, Captain Garrett, I assure you. Quite. I used to say to all our subalterns, 'Now, remember that this house is open to you at any time.' I felt that they were so far from their own homes. 'Bring your troubles to me,' I would say, 'and let us straighten them out together.'" "And did they?" Garrett asked. "They understood me. They knew I wanted to help them. And my husband encouraged them to come." "Takes some encouragin', the subaltern of the present day, unless it's to tennis and two-step," said Colonel West. "But such dear boys! I felt their mothers would have been so glad. And our regiment had quite a name for nice subalterns. There is something so delightful about a subaltern—so care-free." "By Jove, yes!" said Colonel West. "Doesn't care for anything on earth—not even the adjutant!" "Now, Algernon——" But at that moment dinner was announced, and the rest of the sentence was lost—which was an unusual fate for any remark of Mrs. West's. It was Norah's first experience as hostess at her father's dinner-table—since, in this connexion, Billabong did not seem to count. No one could ever have been nervous at Billabong. Besides, there was no butler there: here, Allenby, gravely irreproachable, with Sarah and Bride as attendant sprites, seemed to intensify the solemnity of everything. However, no one seemed to notice anything unusual, and conversation flowed apace. Colonel West did not want to talk: such cooking as Miss de Lisle's appeared to him to deserve the compliment of silence, and he ate in an abstraction that left Garrett free to talk to Norah; while Mrs. West overwhelmed Mr. Linton with a steady flow of eloquence that began with the soup and lasted until dessert. Then Norah and Mrs. West withdrew leaving the men to smoke. "My dear, your cook's a poem," said Mrs. West, as they returned to the drawing-room. "Such a dinner! That souffle—well, words fail me!" "I'm so glad you liked it," Norah said. "It melted in the mouth. And I watched you help it; your face was so anxious—you insinuated the spoon with such an expression—I couldn't describe it——" Norah burst out laughing. "I could," she said. "The cook was so anxious about that souffle, and she said to do it justice it should be helped with a hot spoon. So I told Allenby to stand the spoon in a jug of boiling water, and give it to me at the very last moment. He was holding it in the napkin he had for drying it, I suppose, and he didn't know that the handle was nearly red-hot. But I did, when I took it up!" "My dear child!" exclaimed Mrs. West. "So your expression was due to agony!" "Something like it," Norah laughed. "It was just all I could do to hold it. But the souffle was worth it, wasn't it? I must tell Miss de Lisle." "Miss de Lisle? Your cook?" "Yes—it sounds well, doesn't it?" said Norah. "She's a dear, too." "She is certainly a treasure," said Mrs. West. "Since the regiment went out I have been living in horrible boarding-houses, where they half-starve you, and what they do give you to eat is so murdered in the cooking that you can hardly swallow it. Economical for the management, but not very good for the guests. But one must take things as they come, in this horrible war." She paused, the forced smile fading from her lips. Somehow Norah felt that she was sorry for her: she looked suddenly old, and worn and tired. "Come and sit in this big chair, Mrs. West," she said. "You must have had a long day." "Well, quite," said Mrs. West. "You see, I went to take my husband from the hospital at twelve o'clock, and then I found that your father had made this delightful arrangement for us. It seemed too good to be true. So I had to send Algernon to his club, and I rushed back to my boarding-house and packed my things: and then I had to do some shopping, and meet them at the station. And of course I never could get a taxi when I wanted one. I really think I am a little tired. This seems the kind of house where it doesn't matter to admit it." "Of course not—isn't it a Home for Tired People?" Norah laughed. Sarah entered with coffee, and she fussed gently about her guest, settling her cushions and bringing her cup to her side with cream and sugar. "It's very delightful to be taken care of," said Mrs. West, with a sigh. The affected, jerky manner dropped from her, and she became more natural. "My children are all boys: I often have been sorry that one was not a girl. A daughter must be a great comfort. Have you any sisters, my dear?" "No. Just one brother—he's in Captain Garrett's regiment." "And you will go back to Australia after the war?" "Oh, yes. We couldn't possibly stay away from Australia," Norah said, wide-eyed. "You see, it's home." "And England has not made you care any less for it?" "Goodness, no!" Norah said warmly. "It's all very well in its way, but it simply can't hold a candle to Australia!" "But why?" Norah hesitated. "It's a bit hard to say," she answered at length. "Life is more comfortable here, in some ways: more luxuries and conveniences of living, I mean. And England is beautiful, and it's full of history, and we all love it for that. But it isn't our own country. The people are different—more reserved, and stiffer. But it isn't even that. I don't know," said Norah, getting tangled—"I think it's the air, and the space, and the freedom that we're used to, and we miss them all the time. And the jolly country life——" "But English country life is jolly." "I think we'd get tired of it," said Norah. "It seems to us all play: and in Australia, we work. Even if you go out for a ride there, most likely there is a job hanging to it—to bring in cattle, or count them, or see that a fence is all right, or to bring home the mail. Every one is busy, and the life all round is interesting. I don't think I explain at all well; I expect the real explanation is just that the love for one's own country is in one's bones!" "Quite!" said Mrs. West. "Quite!" But she said the ridiculous word as though for once she understood, and there was a comfortable little silence between them for a few minutes. Then the men came in, and the evening went by quickly enough with games and music. Captain Garrett proved to be the possessor of a very fair tenor, together with a knack of vamping not unmelodious accompaniments. The cheery songs floated out into the hall, where Bride and Katty crouched behind a screen, torn between delight and nervousness. "If the Ould Thing was to come she'd have the hair torn off of us," breathed Katty. "But 'tis worth the rishk. Blessed Hour, haven't he the lovely voice?" "He have—but I'd rather listen to Miss Norah," said Bride loyally. "'Tisn't the big voice she do be having, but it's that happy-sounding." It was after ten o'clock when Norah, having said good-night to her guests and shown Mrs. West to her room, went softly along the corridor. A light showed under Miss de Lisle's doorway, and she tapped gently. The door opened, revealing the cook-lady's comfortable little sitting-room, with a fire burning merrily in the grate. The cook-lady herself was an extraordinarily altered being, in a pale-blue kimono with heavy white embroidery. "I hoped you would come," she said. "Are you tired? Poor child, what an evening! I wonder would you have a cup of cocoa with me here? I have it ready." She waved a large hand towards a fat brown jug standing on a trivet by the grate. There was a tray on a little table, bearing cups and saucers and a spongecake. Norah gave way promptly. "I'd love it," she said. "How good of you. I was much too excited to eat dinner. But the souffle was just perfect, Miss de Lisle. I never saw anything like it. Mrs. West raved about it after dinner." "I am glad," said the cook-lady, with the rapt expression of a high-priestess. "Allenby told me how you arranged for a hot spoon. It was beautiful of you: beautiful!" "Did he tell you how hot it was?" Norah inquired. They grew merry over the story, and the spongecake dwindled simultaneously with the cocoa in the jug. "I must go," Norah said at last. "It's been so nice: thank you ever so, Miss de Lisle." "It's I who should thank you for staying," said the big woman, rising. "Will you come again, some time?" "Rather! if I may. Good-night." She shut the door softly, and scurried along to her room—unconscious that another doorway was a couple of inches ajar, and that through the space Mrs. Atkins regarded her balefully. Her father's door was half-open, and the room was lit. Norah knocked. "Come in," said Mr. Linton. "You, you bad child! I thought you were in bed long ago." "I'm going now," Norah said. "How did things go off, Daddy?" "Quite well," he said. "And my daughter made a good hostess. I think they all enjoyed themselves, Norah." "I think so," said she. "They seemed happy enough. What about Captain Hardress, Dad?" "He seemed comfortable," Mr. Linton answered. "I found him on a couch, with a rug over him, reading. Allenby said he ate a fair dinner. He's a nice fellow, Norah; I like him." "Was he badly wounded, Dad?" "He didn't say much about himself. I gathered that he had been a long while in hospital. But I'm sorry for him, Norah; he seems very down on his luck." "Jim said so," remarked Norah. "Well, we must try to buck him up. I suppose Allenby will look after him, Dad, if he needs anything?" "I told him to," said Mr. Linton, with a grin. "He looked at me coldly, and said, 'I 'ope, sir, I know my duty to a wounded officer.' I believe I found myself apologizing. There are times when Allenby quite fails to hide his opinion of a mere civilian: I see myself sinking lower and lower in his eyes as we fill this place up with khaki: Good-night, Norah." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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