That was what he said to himself, unconscious of the fact that his mother had known and had lived alone with her knowledge for years.

He offered himself for service in South Africa with the City Imperial Volunteers.  The doctor passed him.  He was informed that he would be sworn in at the Guildhall on 4th January.  The great step was taken.

Why had he taken it without telling Rosamund he was going to take it?

As he came out into the dark winter evening he wondered about that almost vaguely.  He must have had a driving reason, but now he did not know what it was.  How was Rosamund going to take it?  Suddenly he felt guilty, as if he had done her a wrong.  They were one flesh, and in such a vital matter he had not consulted her.  Wasn’t it abominable?

As soon as he was free he went straight home.

This time, as he walked homeward, Dion held no intercourse with Westminster.  If he heard the chimes, the voices, the footfalls, he was not conscious of hearing them; if he saw the vapors from the river, the wreaths of smoke from the chimneys, the lights gleaming in the near houses and far away across the dark mystery of the water, he did not know that he saw them.  In himself he was imprisoned, and against the great city in which he walked he had shut the doors.

He arrived at his house and put his hand in his pocket to get his latch-key.  Before he was able to draw it forth the green door was opened and Beatrice came out.

“Dion!” she said, startled.

“You nearly ran over me!”

“What is it?” she asked.  “What have you done?”

“But—­”

“I know!” she interrupted.

She put out her hand and took hold of his coat sleeve.  The action was startlingly impulsive in Beatrice, who was always so almost plaintive, so restrained, so dim.

“But you can’t!”

“I do.  You are going to South Africa.”

He said nothing.  How could he tell Beatrice before he told Rosamund?

“When are you going?”

“Is Rosamund in the house, Beattie?” he asked, very gently.

Beatrice flushed deeply, painfully, and took her hand from his sleeve.

“Yes.  I’ve been playing with Robin, building castles with the new bricks.  Good-by, Dion.”

She went past him and down the small street rather quickly.  He stood for a moment looking after her; then he turned into the house.  As he shut the door he heard a chord struck on the piano upstairs in Rosamund’s sitting-room.  He took off his coat and hat and came into the little hall.  As he did so he heard Rosamund’s voice beginning to sing Brahms’s “Wiegenlied” very softly.  He guessed that she was singing to an audience of Robin.  The bricks had been put away after the departure of Aunt Beattie, and now Robin was being sung towards sleep.  How often would he be sung to by Rosamund in the future when his father would not be there to listen!