There were few passengers alighting from the south bound train from Canada.  Larry Holiday had no difficulty in picking out Geoffrey Annersley among these, a tall young man, wearing the British uniform and supporting himself with a walking stick.  His face was lean and bronzed and lined, the face of a man who has seen things which kill youth and laughter and yet a serene face too as if its owner had found that after all nothing mattered very much if you looked it square in the eye.

Larry went to the stranger at once.

“Captain Annersley?” he asked.  “I am Laurence Holiday.”

The captain set down his bag, leaned on his stick, deliberately scrutinized the other man.  Larry returned the look frankly.  They were of nearly the same age but any one seeing them would have set the Englishman as at least five years the senior of the young doctor.  Geoffrey Annersley had been trained in a stern school.  A man does not wear a captain’s bars and four wound stripes for nothing.

Then the Englishman held out his hand with a pleasant and unexpectedly boyish smile.

“So you are Larry,” he said.  “Your brother sent me to you.”

“Ted!  You have seen him?” For a minute Larry forgot who Geoffrey Annersley was, forgot Ruth, forgot himself, remembered only Ted and gave his guest a heartier handshake than he had willed for his “Kid” brother’s sake.

“Yes, I was with him day before yesterday and the night before that.  He was looking jolly well and sent all kinds of greetings to you all.  See here, Doctor Holiday, I have no end of things to say to you.  Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“My car is outside.  You will come up to the house will you not?  We are all expecting you.”  Larry tried hard to keep his voice quiet and emotionless.  Not for anything would he have had this gallant soldier suspect how his knees were trembling.

“Delighted,” bowed the captain suavely and permitted Larry to take his bag and lead the way to the car.  Nothing more was said until the two men were seated and the car had left the station yard.

“I am afraid I should have made my wire a bit more explicit,” observed the captain turning to Larry.  “My wife says I am too parsimonious with my words in telegrams—­a British trait possibly.”  He spoke deliberately and his keen eyes studied his companion’s face as he made the casual remark which set Larry’s brain reeling.  “See here, Holiday, I’m a blunt brute.  I don’t know how to break things gently to people.  But I am here to tell you if you care to know that Elinor Ruth Farringdon is no more married than you are unless she is married to you.  That was her mother’s wedding ring.  Lord, man, do you always drive a car like this?  I’ve been all but killed once this year and I don’t care to repeat the experiment.”

Larry grinned, flushed, apologized and moderated the speed of his motor.  He wondered that he could drive at all.  He felt strangely light as if he were stripped of his body and were nothing but spirit.