Linda didn’t feel quite that ecstasy over her title that she had expected in her day-dreams.  She was getting a little frightened at her happiness.  Generations of Puritan forefathers and mothers had left some influence of Calvinism on her mentality.  She was brought up to believe in a jealous God, whose Providence when you felt too happy on earth just landed you in some unexpected disaster to fit you for the Kingdom of Heaven—­a Kingdom which all healthy human beings shrink from entering with the terror of the unknown and a certain homeliness of disposition which is humbly content with this cosy planet and a corporeal existence.

However it was very nice to leave cards of calling on Lady Towcester—­even though she was out of town on account of air-raids—­and on others, inscribed:  “Lady Rossiter, Colonel Sir Michael Rossiter, Sir Michael and Lady Rossiter;” and to see printed foolscap envelopes for Michael arrive from the War Office and lie on the hall table, addressed:  Colonel Sir Michael Rossiter K.C.B. etc., etc., etc., etc.

And later on, in January or February, for some very good reason, Sir Michael and Lady Rossiter were received in audience by the King and Queen at Buckingham Palace.  The King had already watched Sir Michael at work in his laboratory just behind the French front; so they two, as Linda timidly glanced at them, had no lack of subjects for conversation.  But the Queen!  Linda had thought she could never have talked to a Queen without swooning, and indeed had arrived primed with much sal volatile.  Yet there, as in some realistic dream, she was led on to talk about her war charities and Sir Michael’s experiments without trembling, and found herself able to listen with intelligence to the Queen’s practical suggestions about war work and the application of relief funds in crowded districts. “We actually compared notes!” said a flushed and triumphant Linda to her Michael, as they drove away through the blue twilight of St. James’s Park.

And so far from being puffed up by this, people said they had always thought Lady Rossiter was kind, but they really before had never imagined there was so much in her.  She was even allowed to preside as Vice President, in the absence of Lady Towcester; and got through it quite creditably—­kind hearts being more than coronets—­and made a little speech to which cook and Nance Adams called out “Hear, Hear!” and roused quite a hearty response.

Of course it was an awful wrench when Michael had to return to France.  But he would be back in the autumn, and meantime she must remember she was a soldier’s wife.  So the summer was got through with cheerfulness, especially as she was now treated with much more regard in the different committees whereof she was Vice President.  On these committees she met Honoria Armstrong, and the longing to renew the old friendship and talk about Michael’s superlative qualities to one who had long known them, took her