George Laird had plenty of cool courage, invaluable in men who have to inflict as well as to alleviate pain, but he did not like his mission “a little bit” as he would have said; and he proposed a walk because he dreaded a scene.  Noel accepted for the same reason.  She liked George, and with the disinterested detachment of a sister-in-law, and the shrewdness of extreme youth, knew him perhaps better than did his wife.  She was sure, at all events, of being neither condemned nor sympathised with.

They might have gone, of course, in any direction, but chose to make for the City.  Such deep decisions are subconscious.  They sought, no doubt, a dry, unemotional region; or perhaps one where George, who was in uniform, might rest his arm from the automatic-toy game which the military play.  They had reached Cheapside before he was conscious to the full of the bizarre nature of this walk with his pretty young sister-in-law among all the bustling, black-coated mob of money-makers.  ‘I wish the devil we hadn’t come out!’ he thought; ’it would have been easier indoors, after all.’

He cleared his throat, however, and squeezing her arm gently, began:  “Gratian’s told me, Nollie.  The great thing is to keep your spirit up, and not worry.”

“I suppose you couldn’t cure me.”

The words, in that delicate spurning voice, absolutely staggered George; but he said quickly: 

“Out of the question, Nollie; impossible!  What are you thinking of?”

“Daddy.”

The words:  “D—­n Daddy!” rose to his teeth; he bit them off, and said:  “Bless him!  We shall have to see to all that.  Do you really want to keep it from him?  It must be one way or the other; no use concealing it, if it’s to come out later.”

“No.”

He stole a look at her.  She was gazing straight before her.  How damnably young she was, how pretty!  A lump came up in his throat.

“I shouldn’t do anything yet,” he said; “too early.  Later on, if you’d like me to tell him.  But that’s entirely up to you, my dear; he need never know.”

“No.”

He could not follow her thought.  Then she said: 

“Gratian condemns Cyril.  Don’t let her.  I won’t have him badly thought of.  It was my doing.  I wanted to make sure of him.”

George answered stoutly: 

“Gracie’s upset, of course, but she’ll soon be all right.  You mustn’t let it come between you.  The thing you’ve got to keep steadily before you is that life’s a huge wide adaptable thing.  Look at all these people!  There’s hardly one of them who hasn’t got now, or hasn’t had, some personal difficulty or trouble before them as big as yours almost; bigger perhaps.  And here they are as lively as fleas.  That’s what makes the fascination of life—­the jolly irony of it all.  It would do you good to have a turn in France, and see yourself in proportion to the whole.”  He felt her fingers suddenly slip under his arm, and went on with greater confidence: