They were sent overseas almost at once, and, after a short training in England, went at once to the firing-line.

* * * * *

It was a dull, foggy morning, and although it was quite late the street-lamps were still burning, and while they could not make much impression on the darkness, at least they made a luminous top on the lamp-posts and served as a guide to the travelers who made their way into the city.  In the breakfast-room of Mayflower Lodge it was dark, and gloomier still, for “the master” was always in his worst mood in the morning, and on this particular morning his temper was aggravated by the presence of his wife’s mother and two sisters from Leith, who always made him envious of the men who marry orphans, who are also the last of their race.

Mr. Goodman was discussing the war-situation, and abusing the Government in that peculiarly bitter way of the British patriot.

His wife, a faded, subdued little woman, sat opposite him and contributed to the conversation twittering little broken phrases of assent.  Her life had been made up of scenes like this.  She was of the sweet and pliable type, which, with the best intentions in the world, has made life hard for other women.

Mr. Goodman gradually worked back to his old grievance.

“This is a time for every man to do his bit, and here am I too old to go and with no son to represent me—­I who came from a family of six sons!  Anyway, why doesn’t the Government pass conscription and drag out the slackers who lounge in the parks and crowd the theaters?”

Aunt Louisa paused in the act of helping herself to marmalade and regarded him with great displeasure; then cried shrilly:—­

“Now, Arthur, that is nothing short of treason, for I tell you we will not allow our dear boys to be taken away like galley-slaves; I tell you Britons never, never shall be slaves, and I for one will never let my Bertie go—­his young life is too precious to be thrown away.  I spent too many nights nursing him through every infantile disease—­measles, whooping-cough,—­you know yourself, my dear Clara,—­beside the times that he broke his arm and his leg; though I still think that the cold compress is the best for a delicate constitution, and I actually ordered the doctor out of the house—­”

“What has that to do with conscription?” asked her brother-in-law gruffly.  “I tell you it is coming and no one will be gladder than I am.”

“I think it is nothing short of unkind the way that you have been speaking of the Germans.  I know I never got muffins like the muffins I got in Berlin that time; and, anyway, there are plenty of the commoner people to go to fight, and they have such large families that they will not miss one as I would miss my Bertie, and he has just recently become engaged to such a dear girl!  In our home we simply try to forget this stupid war, but when I come here I hear nothing else—­I wonder how you stand it, dear Clara.”