She went back to the house, emptied of her husband, daughter, boys, and maids; only the dogs left and the old nurse whom she had taken into confidence.  Even in that sheltered, wooded valley it was very cold this winter.  The birds hid themselves, not one flower bloomed, and the red-brown river was full and swift.  The sound of trees being felled for trench props, in the wood above the house resounded all day long in the frosty air.  She meant to do the cooking herself; and for the rest of the morning and early afternoon she concocted nice things, and thought out how she herself would feel if she were Noel and Noel she, so as to smooth out of the way anything which would hurt the girl.  In the afternoon she went down to the station in the village car, the same which had borne Cyril Morland away that July night, for their coachman had been taken for the army, and the horses were turned out.

Noel looked tired and white, but calm—­too calm.  Her face seemed to Thirza to have fined down, and with those brooding eyes, to be more beautiful.  In the car she possessed herself of the girl’s hand, and squeezed it hard; their only allusion to the situation, except Noel’s formal: 

“Thank you so much, Auntie, for having me; it’s most awfully sweet of you and Uncle Bob.”

“There’s no one in the house, my dear, except old Nurse.  It’ll be very dull for you; but I thought I’d teach you to cook; it’s rather useful.”

The smile which slipped on to Noel’s face gave Thirza quite a turn.

She had assigned the girl a different room, and had made it extraordinarily cheerful with a log fire, chrysanthemums, bright copper candlesticks, warming-pans, and such like.

She went up with her at bedtime, and standing before the fire, said: 

“You know, Nollie, I absolutely refuse to regard this as any sort of tragedy.  To bring life into the worlds in these days, no matter how, ought to make anyone happy.  I only wish I could do it again, then I should feel some use.  Good night dear; and if you want anything, knock on the wall.  I’m next door.  Bless you!” She saw that the girl was greatly moved, underneath her pale mask; and went out astonished at her niece’s powers of self-control.

But she did not sleep at all well; for in imagination, she kept on seeing Noel turning from side to side in the big bed, and those great eyes of hers staring at the dark.

2

The meeting of the brothers Pierson took place at the dinner-hour, and was characterised by a truly English lack of display.  They were so extremely different, and had been together so little since early days in their old Buckinghamshire home, that they were practically strangers, with just the potent link of far-distant memories in common.  It was of these they talked, and about the war.  On this subject they agreed in the large, and differed in the narrow.  For instance, both thought they knew