very day and hour of her return, Elizabeth had taken no notice.  Go she would, at once; and she would make no promises as to the exact date of her return.  But on the morning before she went she had worked superhumanly to put things in order, whether for her typist, or Captain Dell, or Pamela, who must at least take over the housekeeping.  The relations between her and Miss Bremerton that morning had struck Mrs. Gaddesden as odd—­certainly not cordial.  But there was nothing to complain of in Pamela’s conduct.  She would do her best, she said, and sat listening while Elizabeth gave her instructions about food cards, and servants, and the rest.

Then, when the taxi had driven away with the Dictator, what temper on the Squire’s part!  Mrs. Gaddesden had very nearly gone home to London—­but for the fact of raids, and the fact that two of her most necessary servants had joined the W.A.A.C.’s.  Pamela, on the other hand, had gone singing about the house.  And really the child had done her best.  But how could any one expect her to manage her father and the house, especially on the scraps of time left her by her V.A.D. work?  The Squire had been like a fractious child over the compulsory rations.  Nobody was less of a glutton—­he pecked like a bird; but the proper food to peck at must be always there, or his temper was unbearable.  Pamela made various blunders; the household knew hunger for the first time; and the servants began to give warning.  Captain Dell could do nothing with his employer, and the timber business was hung up.

Then came Pamela’s outbreak after a tirade from the Squire bitterly contrasting his lost secretary’s performances, in every particular, with those of his daughter.  The child had disappeared, and a message from the station was all that remained of her.  Well, who could wonder?  Mrs. Gaddesden reflected, with some complacency, that even she had spoken her mind to her father that night, conveniently forgetting some annoying retorts of his about herself, and the custom she had developed of sitting for hours over the fire pretending to knit, but really doing nothing.  After her enormous exertions in the cause of the war—­she was accustomed to say—­of the year before, she was in need of a rest.  She was certainly taking it.  Since Pamela left, indeed, she had been obliged to do the housekeeping, and considered it very hard work.  She had never yet been able to calculate the food coupons correctly.

So she, like all the rest, was looking eagerly for Elizabeth.

Yes!—­that was the cracked horn of the village taxi.  Mrs. Gaddesden poked the fire with energy and rang for Forest.  But his quick ears had heard the signal before hers, and he was already hurrying through the hall to the front door.

And there was the library door opening, so her father too had been on the watch.  Voices in the vestibule, and as the outer door of the hall opened, the Squire appeared at the further end.  Alice Gaddesden had an odd feeling that something important—­decisive—­was going to happen.