“I think it’s very characteristic,” said I.

And it was.  In my mental survey of the situation from Boyce’s point of view I had not taken into account the best and finest in the man.  His reason rang true against my exceptional knowledge of him.  I had worked myself into so sympathetic a comprehension that I knew he would be facing something unknown and terrible in the proposed ceremony; I knew that for his own sake he would have unequivocably declined.  But, ad najorem matris gloriam, he assented.

The main question, at any rate, was settled.  The hero would accept the honour.  It was for the Committee to make the necessary arrangements.  We corresponded far and wide in order to obtain municipal precedents.  We had interviews with the military and railway authorities.  We were in constant communication with the local Volunteer Training Corps; with the Godbury Volunteers and the Godbury School O.T.C., who both desired to take a part in the great event.  In compliance with the conditions imposed, we gave as much publicity as we could to Mrs. Boyce.  Lieutenant Colonel Boyce, V.C., and Mrs. Boyce were officially associated in the programme of the reception.  How to disentangle them afterwards, when the presentation of the address, engrossed on velluni and enclosed in a casket, should be made to the Colonel, was the subject of heated and confused discussion.  Then the feminine elements in town and county desired to rally to the side of Mrs. Boyce.  The Red Cross and Volunteer Aid Detachment Nurses claimed representation.  So did the munitions workers of Godbury.  The Countess of Laleham, the wife of the Lord Lieutenant of the County, a most imposing and masterful woman, signified (in genteel though incisive language) her intention to take a leading part in the proceedings and to bring along her husband, apparently as an unofficial ornament.  This, of course, upset our plans, which had all to be reconsidered from the beginning.

“Who is giving the reception?” cried Lady Fenimore, who could stand upon her dignity as well as anybody.  “The County or Wellingsford?  I presume it’s Wellingsford, and, so long as I am Mayoress, that dreadful Laleham woman will have to take a back seat.”

So, you see, we had our hands full.

All this time I found Betty curiously elusive.  Now and then I met her for a few fugitive moments at the hospital.  Twice she ran in for dinner, in uniform, desperately busy, arriving on the stroke of the dinner hour and rushing away five minutes after her coffee and cigarette, alleging as excuse the epidemic of influenza, consequent on the vile weather, which had woefully reduced the hospital staff.  She seemed to be feverish and ill at ease, and tried to cover the symptoms by a reversion to her old offhand manner.  As I was so seldom alone with her I could find scant opportunity for intimate conversation.  I thought that she might have regretted the frank exposition of her feelings regarding Leonard Boyce.