Her father's door was half-open, and the room was lit. Norah knocked.

"Come in," said Mr. Linton. "You, you bad child! I thought you were in bed long ago."

"I'm going now," Norah said. "How did things go off, Daddy?"

"Quite well," he said. "And my daughter made a good hostess. I think they all enjoyed themselves, Norah."

"I think so," said she. "They seemed happy enough. What about Captain Hardress, Dad?"

"He seemed comfortable," Mr. Linton answered. "I found him on a couch, with a rug over him, reading. Allenby said he ate a fair dinner. He's a nice fellow, Norah; I like him."

"Was he badly wounded, Dad?"

"He didn't say much about himself. I gathered that he had been a long while in hospital. But I'm sorry for him, Norah; he seems very down on his luck."

"Jim said so," remarked Norah. "Well, we must try to buck him up. I suppose Allenby will look after him, Dad, if he needs anything?"

"I told him to," said Mr. Linton, with a grin. "He looked at me coldly, and said, 'I 'ope, sir, I know my duty to a wounded officer.'

I believe I found myself apologizing. There are times when Allenby quite fails to hide his opinion of a mere civilian: I see myself sinking lower and lower in his eyes as we fill this place up with khaki: Good-night, Norah."

CHAPTER IX

HOMEWOOD GETS BUSY

"Good morning, Captain Hardress."

Hardress turned. He was standing in the porch, looking out over the park towards the yellowing woods.

"Good morning, Miss Linton. I hope you'll forgive me for being so lazy as to stay in bed for breakfast. You'll have to blame your butler: he simply didn't call me. The first thing I knew was an enormous tray with enough breakfast for six men--and Allenby grinning behind it."

"You stay in bed to breakfast here, or get up, just as you feel inclined," Norah said. "There aren't any rules except two."

"Isn't that a bit Irish?"

"Not exactly, because Jim says even those two may be broken. But I don't agree to that--at least, not for Rule 2."

"Do tell me them," he begged.

"Rule 1 is, 'Bed at ten o'clock.' That's the one that may be broken when necessary. Rule 2 is, 'Please do just what you feel like doing.'

That's the one I won't have broken--unless any one wants to do things that aren't good for them. Then I shall remember that they are patients, and become severe."

"But I'm not a patient."

"No--but you're tired. You've got to get quite fit. What would you like to do? Would you care to come for a ride?"

Hardress flushed darkly.

"Afraid I can't ride."

"Oh--I'm sorry," said Norah, looking at him in astonishment. This lean, active-looking fellow with the nervous hands certainly looked as though he should be able to ride. Indeed, there were no men in Norah's world who could not. But, perhaps----

"What about a walk, then?" she inquired. "Do you feel up to it?"

Again Hardress flushed.

"I thought your brother would have explained," he said heavily. "I can't do anything much, Miss Linton. You see, I've only one leg."

Norah's grey eyes were wide with distress.

"I didn't know," she faltered. "The telephone was out of order--Jim couldn't explain. I'm so terribly sorry--you must have thought me stupid."

"Not a bit--after all, it's rather a compliment to the shop-made article. I was afraid it was evident enough."

"Indeed it isn't," Norah a.s.sured him. "I knew you limped a little--but it wasn't very noticeable."

"It's supposed to be a special one," Hardress said. "I'm hardly used to it yet, though, and it feels awkward enough. They've been experimenting with it for some time, and now I'm a sort of trial case for that brand of leg. The maker swears I'll be able to dance with it: he's a hopeful soul. I'm not."

"You ought to try to be," Norah said. "And it really must be a very good one." She felt a kind of horror at talking of it in this cold-blooded fashion.

"I think most of the hopefulness was knocked out of me," Hardress answered. "You see, I wanted to save the old leg, and they tried to: and then it was a case of one operation after another, until at last they took it off--near the hip."

Norah went white.

"Near the hip!" Her voice shook. "Oh, it couldn't be--you're so big and strong!"

Hardress laughed grimly.

"I used to think it couldn't be, myself," he said. "Well, I suppose one will get accustomed to it in time. I'm sorry I distressed you, Miss Linton--only I thought I had better make a clean breast of it."

"I'm glad you did." Norah had found control of her voice and her wits: she remembered that this maimed lad with the set face was there to be helped, and that it was part of her job to do it. Her very soul was wrung with pity, but she forced a smile.

"Now you have just got to let us help," she said. "We can't try to make forget it, I know, but we can help to make the best of it. You can practise using it in all sorts of ways, and seeing just what you can do with it. And, Captain Hardress, I know they do wonders now with artificial legs: Dad knew of a man who played tennis with his--as bad a case as yours."

"That certainly seems too good to be true," said Hardress.

"I don't know about that," said Norah eagerly. "Your leg must be very good--none of us guessed the truth about it. When you get used to it, you'll be able to manage all sorts of things. Golf, for instance--there's a jolly little nine-hole course in the park, and I know you could play."

"I had thought golf might be a possibility," he said. "Not that I ever cared much for it. My two games were polo and Rugby football."

"I don't know about Rugby," said Norah thoughtfully. "But of course you'll play polo again. Some one was writing in one of the papers lately, saying that so many men had lost a leg in the war that the makers would have to invent special riding-legs, for hunting and polo.

I know very well that if Jim came home without a leg he'd still go mustering cattle, or know the reason why! And there was the case of an Irishman, a while ago, who had no legs at all--and he used to hunt."

"By Jove!" said Hardress. "Well, you cheer a fellow up, Miss Linton."

"You see, I have Jim and Wally," said Norah. "Do you know Wally, by the way?"