fairly often in the neighbourhood of Ypres, and Aubrey was then the same eager, impulsive fellow that Chicksands had known at Eton and Cambridge, bubbling over with the exploits of his battalion, and adored by his own men.  In April, in a raid near Festubert, Mannering was badly wounded.  But the change in him was already evident when they were in Paris together.  Chicksands could only suppose it represented the mental and nervous depression caused by Vivian’s death, and would pass away.  On the contrary, it had proved to be something permanent.

Yet it had never interfered with his efficiency as a soldier, nor his record for a dare-devil courage.  There were many tales current of his exploits on the Somme, in which again and again he had singed the beard of Death, with an absolute recklessness of his own personal life, combined with the most anxious care for that of his men.  Since the battle of Messines he had been the head of a remarkable Officers’ School at Aldershot, mainly organized by himself.  But now, it seemed, he was moving heaven and earth to get back to France and the front.  Chicksands did not think he would achieve it.  He was invaluable where he was, and his superiors, to Mannering’s indignation, were inclined to regard him as a man who was physically fit rather for home service than the front.

When they reached the Buckingham Palace end of the Walk, Mannering paused.

‘Where are you lunching?’

‘At Brooks’, with my father.’

‘Oh, then I’ll walk there with you.’

They struck across the park, and talk fell on a recent small set-back which had happened to a regiment with which they were both well acquainted.

Chicksands shrugged his shoulders.

‘I’ve heard some details at the War Office.  Just ten minutes’ rot!  The Colonel stopped it with his revolver.  Most of them splendid fellows.  Two young subs gave way under a terrific shelling and their men with them.  And in ten minutes they were all rushing forward again, straight through the barrage—­and the two lieutenants were killed.’

‘My God!—­lucky fellows!’ cried Mannering, under his breath, with a passion and suddenness that struck astonishment into his companion.

‘Well, yes,’ said Arthur, ’in a sense—­but—­nothing would have happened to them.  They had wiped it out.’

Mannering shook his head.  Then with a great and evident effort he changed the conversation.

‘You know Pamela’s in town?’

’Yes, with Margaret Strang.  I’m going to dine there to-night.  How’s the new agent getting on?’

Aubrey smiled.

‘Which?—­the man—­or the lady?’

’Miss Bremerton, of course.  I got a most interesting letter from her a fortnight ago.  Do you know that she herself has discovered nearly a thousand ash in the Squire’s woods, after that old idiot Hull had told her she wouldn’t find half-a-dozen?  A thousand ash is not to be sneezed at in these days!  I happen to know that the Air Board wrote the Squire a very civil letter.’