“I didn’t,” declared Geoffrey promptly.  “I fell in love with you at the mature age of nineteen—­and I never fell out again.”

Elisabeth flashed him a charming smile.

“Perhaps Tim may follow in your footsteps, then,” she suggested serenely.

“Well, would you be pleased?” persisted her husband, jerking his head explanatorily in the direction in which Sara and Tim had disappeared.

“I shall always be pleased with the woman who makes Tim happy,” she answered simply.

Durward was silent a moment; then he returned to the attack.

“She’s a very pretty young woman, don’t you think?”

“Sara?  No, I shouldn’t call her exactly pretty.  Her face is too thin, and strong, and eager.  But she is a very uncommon type—­like a black and white etching, and immensely attractive.”

It was several days before Sara was able to introduce the topic of Tim’s profession, but she contrived it one afternoon when she and Elisabeth were sitting together awaiting the return of the two men for tea.

“It will be profession enough for Tim to look after the property,” Elisabeth made answer.  “He can act as agent for his father to some extent, and relieve him of a great deal of necessary business that has to be transacted.”

She spoke with a certain finality which made it difficult to pursue the subject, but Sara, remembering Tim’s suddenly hard young eyes, persisted.

“It’s a pity he cannot go into the Army—­he’s so keen on it,” she suggested tentatively.

A curious change came over Elisabeth’s face.  It seemed to Sara as though a veil had descended, from behind which the inscrutable eyes were watching her warily.  But the response was given lightly enough.

“Oh, one of the family in the Service is enough.  I should see so little of my Tim if he became a soldier—­only an occasional ‘leave.’”

“He would make a very good soldier,” said Sara.  “To my mind, it’s the finest profession in the world for any man.”

“Do you think so?” Elisabeth spoke coldly.  “There are many risks attached to it.”

Sara experienced a revulsion of feeling; she had not expected Elisabeth to be of the fearful type of woman.  Women of splendid physique and abounding vitality are rarely obsessed by craven apprehensions.

“I don’t think the risks would count with Tim,” she said warmly.  “He has any amount of pluck.”  And then she stared at Elisabeth in amazement.  A sudden haggardness had overspread the elder woman’s face, the faint shell-pink that usually flushed her cheeks draining away and leaving them milk-white.

“Yes,” she replied in stifled tones.  “I don’t suppose Tim’s a coward.  But”—­more lightly—­“I think I am.  I—­don’t think I care for the Army as a profession.  Tim is my only child,” she added self-excusingly.  “I can’t let him run risks—­of any kind.”

As she spoke, an odd foreboding seized hold of Sara.  It was as though the secret dread of something—­she could not tell what—­which held the mother had communicated itself to her.