"Now, now!" She shook a playful forefinger at him. "I was a mother to my husband's regiment, Captain Garrett, I a.s.sure you. Quite. I used to say to all our subalterns, 'Now, remember that this house is open to you at any time.' I felt that they were so far from their own homes. 'Bring your troubles to me,' I would say, 'and let us straighten them out together.'"

"And did they?" Garrett asked.

"They understood me. They knew I wanted to help them. And my husband encouraged them to come."

"Takes some encouragin', the subaltern of the present day, unless it's to tennis and two-step," said Colonel West.

"But such dear boys! I felt their mothers would have been so glad.

And our regiment had quite a name for nice subalterns. There is something so delightful about a subaltern--so care-free."

"By Jove, yes!" said Colonel West. "Doesn't care for anything on earth--not even the adjutant!"

"Now, Algernon----" But at that moment dinner was announced, and the rest of the sentence was lost--which was an unusual fate for any remark of Mrs. West's.

It was Norah's first experience as hostess at her father's dinner-table--since, in this connexion, Billabong did not seem to count. No one could ever have been nervous at Billabong. Besides, there was no butler there: here, Allenby, gravely irreproachable, with Sarah and Bride as attendant sprites, seemed to intensify the solemnity of everything. However, no one seemed to notice anything unusual, and conversation flowed apace. Colonel West did not want to talk: such cooking as Miss de Lisle's appeared to him to deserve the compliment of silence, and he ate in an abstraction that left Garrett free to talk to Norah; while Mrs. West overwhelmed Mr. Linton with a steady flow of eloquence that began with the soup and lasted until dessert. Then Norah and Mrs. West withdrew leaving the men to smoke.

"My dear, your cook's a poem," said Mrs. West, as they returned to the drawing-room. "_Such_ a dinner! That _souffle_--well, words fail me!"

"I'm so glad you liked it," Norah said.

"It melted in the mouth. And I watched you help it; your face was so anxious--you insinuated the spoon with such an expression--I couldn't describe it----"

Norah burst out laughing.

"I could," she said. "The cook was so anxious about that _souffle_, and she said to do it justice it should be helped with a hot spoon.

So I told Allenby to stand the spoon in a jug of boiling water, and give it to me at the very last moment. He was holding it in the napkin he had for drying it, I suppose, and he didn't know that the handle was nearly red-hot. But I did, when I took it up!"

"My dear child!" exclaimed Mrs. West. "So your expression was due to agony!"

"Something like it," Norah laughed. "It was just all I could do to hold it. But the _souffle was_ worth it, wasn't it? I must tell Miss de Lisle."

"Miss de Lisle? Your cook?"

"Yes--it sounds well, doesn't it?" said Norah. "She's a dear, too."

"She is certainly a treasure," said Mrs. West. "Since the regiment went out I have been living in horrible boarding-houses, where they half-starve you, and what they do give you to eat is so murdered in the cooking that you can hardly swallow it. Economical for the management, but not very good for the guests. But one must take things as they come, in this horrible war." She paused, the forced smile fading from her lips. Somehow Norah felt that she was sorry for her: she looked suddenly old, and worn and tired.

"Come and sit in this big chair, Mrs. West," she said. "You must have had a long day."

"Well, quite," said Mrs. West. "You see, I went to take my husband from the hospital at twelve o'clock, and then I found that your father had made this delightful arrangement for us. It seemed too good to be true. So I had to send Algernon to his club, and I rushed back to my boarding-house and packed my things: and then I had to do some shopping, and meet them at the station. And of course I never could get a taxi when I wanted one. I really think I am a little tired.

This seems the kind of house where it doesn't matter to admit it."

"Of course not--isn't it a Home for Tired People?" Norah laughed.

Sarah entered with coffee, and she fussed gently about her guest, settling her cushions and bringing her cup to her side with cream and sugar.

"It's very delightful to be taken care of," said Mrs. West, with a sigh. The affected, jerky manner dropped from her, and she became more natural. "My children are all boys: I often have been sorry that one was not a girl. A daughter must be a great comfort. Have you any sisters, my dear?"

"No. Just one brother--he's in Captain Garrett's regiment."

"And you will go back to Australia after the war?"

"Oh, yes. We couldn't possibly stay away from Australia," Norah said, wide-eyed. "You see, it's home."

"And England has not made you care any less for it?"

"Goodness, no!" Norah said warmly. "It's all very well in its way, but it simply can't hold a candle to Australia!"

"But why?"

Norah hesitated.

"It's a bit hard to say," she answered at length. "Life is more comfortable here, in some ways: more luxuries and conveniences of living, I mean. And England is beautiful, and it's full of history, and we all love it for that. But it isn't our own country. The people are different--more reserved, and stiffer. But it isn't even that. I don't know," said Norah, getting tangled--"I think it's the air, and the s.p.a.ce, and the freedom that we're used to, and we miss them all the time. And the jolly country life----"

"But English country life is jolly."

"I think we'd get tired of it," said Norah. "It seems to us all play: and in Australia, we work. Even if you go out for a ride there, most likely there is a job hanging to it--to bring in cattle, or count them, or see that a fence is all right, or to bring home the mail.

Every one is busy, and the life all round is interesting. I don't think I explain at all well; I expect the real explanation is just that the love for one's own country is in one's bones!"

"Quite!" said Mrs. West. "Quite!" But she said the ridiculous word as though for once she understood, and there was a comfortable little silence between them for a few minutes. Then the men came in, and the evening went by quickly enough with games and music. Captain Garrett proved to be the possessor of a very fair tenor, together with a knack of vamping not unmelodious accompaniments. The cheery songs floated out into the hall, where Bride and Katty crouched behind a screen, torn between delight and nervousness.

"If the Ould Thing was to come she'd have the hair torn off of us,"

breathed Katty. "But 'tis worth the rishk. Blessed Hour, haven't he the lovely voice?"

"He have--but I'd rather listen to Miss Norah," said Bride loyally.

"'Tisn't the big voice she do be having, but it's that happy-sounding."

It was after ten o'clock when Norah, having said good-night to her guests and shown Mrs. West to her room, went softly along the corridor. A light showed under Miss de Lisle's doorway, and she tapped gently.

The door opened, revealing the cook-lady's comfortable little sitting-room, with a fire burning merrily in the grate. The cook-lady herself was an extraordinarily altered being, in a pale-blue kimono with heavy white embroidery.

"I hoped you would come," she said. "Are you tired? Poor child, what an evening! I wonder would you have a cup of cocoa with me here? I have it ready."

She waved a large hand towards a fat brown jug standing on a trivet by the grate. There was a tray on a little table, bearing cups and saucers and a spongecake. Norah gave way promptly.

"I'd love it," she said. "How good of you. I was much too excited to eat dinner. But the _souffle_ was just perfect, Miss de Lisle. I never saw anything like it. Mrs. West raved about it after dinner."

"I am glad," said the cook-lady, with the rapt expression of a high-priestess. "Allenby told me how you arranged for a hot spoon.

It was beautiful of you: beautiful!"

"Did he tell you how hot it was?" Norah inquired. They grew merry over the story, and the spongecake dwindled simultaneously with the cocoa in the jug.

"I must go," Norah said at last. "It's been so nice: thank you ever so, Miss de Lisle."

"It's I who should thank you for staying," said the big woman, rising.

"Will you come again, some time?"

"Rather! if I may. Good-night." She shut the door softly, and scurried along to her room--unconscious that another doorway was a couple of inches ajar, and that through the s.p.a.ce Mrs. Atkins regarded her balefully.