There he stood, tall, deep-chested, clear-eyed, bronzed, his heavy chin in the air, his bull-neck not detracting from his physical handsomeness, but giving it a seal of enormous strength.

“My dear fellow,” he cried, grasping my hand heartily, “how glad I am to see you.  Come along in and let mother give you some tea.  Nonsense!” he waved away my protest.  “Marigold, stop that engine and bring in the Major.  I’ve got lots of things to tell you.  That’s right.”

He strode boyishly to the front door, which he threw open wide to admit Marigold and myself and followed us with Mrs. Boyce into the drawing-room, talking all the while.  I must confess that I was just a little puzzled by his exuberant welcome.  And, to judge by the blank expression that flitted momentarily over her face, so was his mother.  If he were so delighted by my visit, why had he not crossed the lawn at once as soon as he saw the car?  Why had he sent his mother on ahead?  I was haunted by an exchange of words overheard in imagination: 

“Confound the fellow!  What has he come here for?”

“Mary will say ‘not at home.’”

“But he has spotted us.  Do go and get rid of him.”

“Such an old friend, dear.”

“We haven’t time for old fossils.  Tell him to go and bury himself.”

And (in my sensitive fancy) she had delivered the import of the message.  I had gathered that my visit was ill-timed.  I was preparing to cut it short, when Leonard himself came up and whisked me against my will to the tea-table.  If my hypothesis were correct he had evidently changed his mind as to the desirability of getting rid, in so summary a fashion, of what he may have considered to be an impertinent and malicious little factor in Wellingsford gossip.

At any rate, if he was playing a part, he played it very well.  It was not in the power of man to be more cordial and gracious.  He gave me a vivid account of the campaign.  He had been through everything, the retreat from Mons, the Battle of the Aisne, the great rush north, and the Battle of Neuve Chapelle on the 17th of March.  I listened, fascinated, to his tale, which he told with a true soldier’s impersonal modesty.

“I was glad,” said I, after a while, “to see you twice mentioned in dispatches.”

Mrs. Boyce turned on me triumphantly.  “He is going to get his D. S. O.”

“By Jove!” said I.

Leonard laughed, threw one gaitered leg over the other and held up his hands at her.

“Oh, you feminine person!” He smiled at me.  “I told my dear old mother as a dead and solemn secret.”

“But it will be gazetted in a few days, dear.”

“One can never be absolutely sure of these things until they’re in black and white.  A pretty ass I’d look if there was a hitch—­say through some fool of a copying clerk—­and I didn’t get it after all.  It’s only dear, silly understanding things like mothers that would understand.  Other people wouldn’t.  Don’t you think I’m right, Meredyth?”