over to Kensington Square, impulsively.  Honoria perceived the need instinctively.  The coldness engendered by Linda’s silly Anti-suffragism disappeared.  They both talked by the hour together of their respective husbands and their outstanding virtues and charming weaknesses.  The Armstrong children took to calling her Aunt Linda—­Michael and Petworth, after all, were brothers-in-arms and friends from youth.  Lady Rossiter was delighted, and lavished presents on them, till Honoria reminded her it was war-time and extravagance in all things was reprehensible, even in British-made toys.

They discussed the Vote, soon to be theirs, and how it should be exercised.  From that—­by some instinct—­Honoria passed on to a talk about Vivien Warren ... a selective talk.  She said nothing about David Williams, but enlarged on Vivie’s absolute “straightness,” especially towards other women; her business capacities, her restoration of her mother to the ranks of the respectable; till at last it seemed as though the burning down of racing stables was a meritorious act ... “ridding England of an evil that good might come.”  And there was poor Vivie, locked up in Brussels, if indeed she were still living.

Linda felt shocked at her own treachery to the Woman’s Cause in having betrayed that poor, well-meaning Miss Warren to the police.  Never could she confess this to Lady Armstrong (Sir Petworth had just been knighted for a great success in battle), tell her about the fragment of letter she had forwarded anonymously to Scotland Yard.  Perhaps she might some day tell Michael, when he returned.  In any case she would say at the next opportunity that as soon as Miss Warren reappeared in England, he might ask her to the house as often as he liked—­even to stay with them if she were in want of a home.

She said as much to Michael when he came back in September, 1917, to make some further investigations into bone grafting.  He seemed genuinely pleased at her broad-mindedness, and said it would indeed be delightful when the War was over—­and it surely must be over soon—­now Mr. Lloyd George and Clemenceau and President Wilson had taken it in hand—­it would indeed be delightful to form a circle of close friends who had all been interested in the Woman’s Movement.  As to Vivie ... if she were not dead ... he should advise her to go in for Parliament.

He had had no news of her since ever so long; what was worse, he had now very great misgivings about Bertie Adams.  During the autumn of 1916 he had disappeared in the direction of La Bassee.  There were stories of his having joined some American Relief Expedition at Lille—­a most dangerous thing to do; insensate, if it were not a mad attempt to get through to Brussels in disguise to rescue Miss Warren.  No one in the Y.M.C.A. believed for a moment that he had done anything dishonourable.  Most likely he had been killed—­as so many Y.M.C.A. people were just then, assisting to bring in the wounded or going up to the trenches with supplies.  Mrs. Adams had better be prepared, cautiously, for a bereavement.  Rossiter himself was very sad about it.  He had missed Bertie’s services much these last three years.  He had never known a better worker—­turn his hand to anything—­Such a good indexer, for example.