Betty, who had occupied herself by replacing Matthew Arnold’s poems in the bookcase, caught up the box of cigars that lay on the brass tray table by my side, and offered it to him.

“Here is the smoke,” she said.

And when, after a swift, covert glance at her, he had selected a cigar, she went to the bell-push by the mantelpiece.

“The drinks will be here in a minute.”

In order to do something to save this absurd situation, I drew from my waistcoat pocket a little cigar-cutter attached to my watch-chain, and clipped the end of his cigar.  I also lit a match from my box and handed it up to him.  When he had finished with the match he threw it into the fireplace and turned to Betty.

“My congratulations are a bit late, but I hope I may offer them.”

She said, “Thank you.”  Waved a hand.  “Won’t you sit down?”

“Wasn’t it rather sudden?” he asked.

“Everything in war time is sudden—­except the action of the British Government.  Your own appearance to-night is sudden.”

He laughed at her jest and explained, much as he had done to me, his reasons for wishing to keep his visit to Wellingsford a secret.  Meanwhile Marigold had brought in decanters and syphons.  Betty attended to Boyce’s needs with a provoking air of nonchalance.  If a notorious German imbrued in the blood of babes had chanced to be in her hospital, she would have given him his medicine with just the same air.  Although no one could have specified a lack of courtesy towards a guest—­for in my house she played hostess—­there was an indefinable touch of cold contumely in her attitude.  Whether he felt the hostility as acutely as I did, I cannot say; but he carried it off with a swaggering grace.  He bowed to her over his glass.

“Here’s to the fortunate and gallant fellow over there.”

I saw her knuckles whiten as, with an inclination of the head, she acknowledged the toast.

“By the way,” said he, “what’s his regiment?  My good mother told me his name.  Captain Connor, isn’t it?  But for the rest she is vague.  She’s the vaguest old dear in the world.  I found out to-day that she thought there was a long row of cannons, hundreds of them, all in a line, in front of the English Army, and a long row in front of the German Army, and, when there was a battle, that they all blazed away.  So when I asked her whether your husband was in the Life Guards or the Army Service Corps, she said cheerfully that it was either one or the other but she wasn’t quite sure.  So do give me some reliable information.”

“My husband is in the 10th Wessex Fusiliers, a Territorial battalion,” she replied coldly.

“I hope some day to have the pleasure of making his acquaintance.”

“Stranger things have happened,” said Betty.  She glanced at the clock and rose abruptly.  “It’s time I was getting back to the hospital.”

Boyce rose too.  “How are you going?” he asked.