She and Grange both became regular members of Olga’s hockey team.  They shared most of their pursuits.  Among other things she was learning the accompaniments of his songs.  Grange had a well-cultivated tenor voice, to which Daisy the restless would listen for any length of time.

Altogether they were a very peaceful trio, and as the weeks slipped on it almost seemed as if the quiet home life they lived were destined to endure indefinitely.  Grange spoke occasionally of leaving, but Daisy would never entertain the idea for an instant, and he certainly did not press it very strongly.  He was not returning to India before September, and the long summer months that intervened made the date of his departure so remote as to be outside discussion.  No one ever thought of it.

But the long, quiet interval in the sleepy little country town, interminable as it might feel, was not destined to last for ever.  On a certain afternoon in March, Grange and Muriel, riding home together after a windy gallop across open country, were waylaid outside the doctor’s gate by one of the Ratcliffe boys.

The urchin was cheering at the top of his voice and dancing ecstatically in the mud.  Olga, equally dishevelled but somewhat more coherent, was seated on the gate-post, her long legs dangling.

“Have you seen Dad?  Have you heard?” was her cry.  “Jimmy, come out of the road.  You’ll be kicked.”

Both riders pulled up to hear the news, Jimmy squirming away from the horses’ legs after a fashion that provoked even the mild-tempered Grange to a sharp reproof.

“You haven’t heard?” pursued Olga, ignoring her small brother’s escapade as too trifling to notice at such a supreme moment.  “But you haven’t, of course, if you haven’t seen Dad.  The letter only came an hour ago.  It’s Nick, dear old Nick!  He’s coming home at last!” In her delight over imparting the information Olga nearly toppled over backwards, only saving herself by a violent effort.  “Aren’t you glad, Muriel?  Aren’t you glad?” she cried.  “I was never so pleased in my life!”

But Muriel had no reply ready.  For some reason her animal had become suddenly restive, and occupied the whole of her attention.

It was Grange who after a seconds hesitation asked for further particulars.  “What is he coming for?  Is it sick leave?”

Olga nodded.  “He isn’t to stay out there for the hot weather.  It’s something to do with his wound.  He doesn’t want to come a bit.  But he is to start almost at once.  He may be starting now.”

“Not likely,” put in Jimmy.  “The end of March was what he said.  Dad said he couldn’t be here before the third week in April.”

“Oh, well, that isn’t long, is it?” said Olga eagerly.  “Not when you come to remember that it’s three years since he went away.  I do think they might have given him the V.C., don’t you?  Captain Grange, why hasn’t he got the V.C.?”

Grange couldn’t say, really.  He advised her to ask the man himself.  He was observing Muriel with some uneasiness, and when she at length abruptly waved her whip and rode sharply on as though her horse were beyond her control, he struck spurs into his own and started in pursuit.