“I can’t take any recreation,” she said.  “I’d rather sit ’ere, or be at work.  My son was a real son to me.  This tea’s the only thing that does me any good.  I can make you a fresh cup in a minute.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Soles, but I must be getting on.  We must all look forward to meeting our beloved again, in God’s mercy.  And one of these days soon I shall be seeing you in church, shan’t I.”

Mrs. Soles shifted her weight from one slippered foot to the other.

“Well! let’s ’ope so,” she said.  “But I dunno when I shall ’ave the spirit.  Good day, sir, and thank you kindly for calling, I’m sure.”

Pierson walked away with a very faint smile.  Poor queer old soul!—­she was no older than himself, but he thought of her as ancient—­cut off from her son, like so many—­so many; and how good and patient!  The melody of an anthem began running in his head.  His fingers moved on the air beside him, and he stood still, waiting for an omnibus to take him to St. John’s Wood.  A thousand people went by while he was waiting, but he did not notice them, thinking of that anthem, of his daughters, and the mercy of God; and on the top of his ’bus, when it came along, he looked lonely and apart, though the man beside him was so fat that there was hardly any seat left to sit on.  Getting down at Lord’s Cricket-ground, he asked his way of a lady in a nurse’s dress.

“If you’ll come with me,” she said, “I’m just going there.”

“Oh!  Do you happen to know a Mrs. Lynch who nurses”

“I am Mrs. Lynch.  Why, you’re Edward Pierson!”

He looked into her face, which he had not yet observed.

“Leila!” he said.

“Yes, Leila!  How awfully nice of you to come, Edward!”

They continued to stand, searching each for the other’s youth, till she murmured: 

“In spite of your beard, I should have known you anywhere!” But she thought:  ‘Poor Edward!  He is old, and monk-like!’

And Pierson, in answer, murmured: 

“You’re very little changed, Leila!  We haven’t, seen each other since my youngest girl was born.  She’s just a little like you.”  But he thought:  ‘My Nollie!  So much more dewy; poor Leila!’

They walked on, talking of his daughters, till they reached the hospital.

“If you’ll wait here a minute, I’ll take you over my wards.”

She had left him in a bare hall, holding his hat in one hand and touching his gold cross with the other; but she soon came hack, and a little warmth crept about his heart.  How works of mercy suited women!  She looked so different, so much softer, beneath the white coif, with a white apron over the bluish frock.

At the change in his face, a little warmth crept about Leila, too, just where the bib of her apron stopped; and her eyes slid round at him while they went towards what had once been a billiard-room.

“My men are dears,” she said; “they love to be talked to.”