One night he dreamed that he was at home; out in the ploughed fields, where he could see nothing but the furrowed brown earth, stretching from horizon to horizon.  Up and down it moved a boy, with a plough and two horses.  At first he thought it was his brother Ralph; but on coming nearer, he saw it was himself,—­and he was full of fear for this boy.  Poor Claude, he would never, never get away; he was going to miss everything!  While he was struggling to speak to Claude, and warn him, he awoke.

In the years when he went to school in Lincoln, he was always hunting for some one whom he could admire without reservations; some one he could envy, emulate, wish to be.  Now he believed that even then he must have had some faint image of a man like Gerhardt in his mind.  It was only in war times that their paths would have been likely to cross; or that they would have had anything to do together... any of the common interests that make men friends.

 XIV

Gerhardt and Claude Wheeler alighted from a taxi before the open gates of a square-roofed, solid-looking house, where all the shutters on the front were closed, and the tops of many trees showed above the garden wall.  They crossed a paved court and rang at the door.  An old valet admitted the young men, and took them through a wide hall to the salon, which opened on the garden.  Madame and Mademoiselle would be down very soon.  David went to one of the long windows and looked out.  “They have kept it up, in spite of everything.  It was always lovely here.”

The garden was spacious,—­like a little park.  On one side was a tennis court, on the other a fountain, with a pool and water-lilies.  The north wall was hidden by ancient yews; on the south two rows of plane trees, cut square, made a long arbour.  At the back of the garden there were fine old lindens.  The gravel walks wound about beds of gorgeous autumn flowers; in the rose garden, small white roses were still blooming, though the leaves were already red.

Two ladies entered the drawing-room.  The mother was short, plump, and rosy, with strong, rather masculine features and yellowish white hair.  The tears flashed into her eyes as David bent to kiss her hand, and she embraced him and touched both his cheeks with her lips.

“Et vous, vous aussi!” she murmured, touching the coat of his uniform with her fingers.  There was but a moment of softness.  She gathered herself up like an old general, Claude thought, as he stood watching the group from the window, drew her daughter forward, and asked David whether he recognized the little girl with whom he used to play.  Mademoiselle Claire was not at all like her mother; slender, dark, dressed in a white costume de tennis and an apple green hat with black ribbons, she looked very modern and casual and unconcerned.  She was already telling David she was glad he had arrived early, as now they would be able to have a game of tennis before tea.