She hesitated for a moment.

“No, I am playing golf at Ranelagh.”

“Might I call this afternoon?”

“If you like,” she assented.  “After four o’clock, though, because I am staying out to lunch.”

“Thank you so much,” he replied gratefully.

She set down the receiver again and went back to the breakfast-room.

“Captain Granet just wanted to congratulate us all,” she announced, “and to know if he could come in to tea this afternoon.”

“Better ask him to dinner, my dear,” the Admiral suggested hospitably.  “He’s a fine young fellow, Granet.  Very thoughtful of him to ring us up.”

Lady Conyers made no comment.  Geraldine was bending over her plate.  The Admiral rose to his feet.  He was much too excited to pursue the conversation.

“I shall walk down to the Admiralty and see if I can get hold of old Wilcock,” he continued.  “If he won’t tell me anything, I’ll wring the old beggar’s neck.”

The Admiral left the house a few minutes later and Lady Conyers walked arm in arm with her daughter into the pleasant little morning-room which looked out upon the Square.  The former paused for a moment to look at Thomson’s photograph, which stood upon one of the side tables.  Then she closed the door.

“Geraldine,” she said, “I am not very happy about you and Hugh.”

“Why not, mother?” the girl asked, looking out of the window.

“Perhaps because I like Hugh,” Lady Conyers went on quietly, “perhaps, too, because I am not sure that you have done wisely.  You haven’t given me any reason yet, have you, for breaking your engagement?”

Geraldine was silent for a moment.  Then she came back and sat on the rug at her mother’s feet.  She kept her face, however, a little turned away.

“It’s so hard to put it into words, mother,” she said thoughtfully, “only Hugh never seemed to give me any of his confidence.  Of course, his is very dull work, looking after hospitals and that sort of thing, but still, I’d have liked to try and take an interest in it.  He must have seen exciting things in France, but it is only by the merest chance that one ever realises that he has been even near the Front.  He is so silent, so secretive.”

Lady Conyers took up her knitting.

“Some men are like that, dear,” she remarked.  “It is just temperamental.  Perhaps you haven’t encouraged him to talk.”

“But I have,” Geraldine insisted.  “I have asked him no end of questions, but before he has answered any of them properly, I find him trying to change the conversation.”

“Men don’t like talking about the war, you know,” Lady Conyers went on.  “There was that nice Major Tyndale who was back from the Front the other day with a V. C. and goodness knows what.  Not a word would he say about any one of the fights, and he is cheery enough in a general way, isn’t he, and fond of talking?”

“Even then,” Geraldine protested, “Hugh’s work is different.  I can understand why he doesn’t like to talk a lot about the wounded and that sort of thing, but he must have had some interesting adventures.”