"If I could remember the barrack-square frown, at the moment, I would a.s.sume it," said that officer, laughing. "Never mind, I'll deal with you both when we all get back."

"You haven't told me about the family," Norah persisted. "The family you are strict with, I mean," she added kindly.

"You have no more respect for a field-officer than your brother has,"

said he.

"Whisper!" said Mrs. Hunt. "He was only a subaltern himself before the war!"

Her husband eyed her severely.

"You'll get put under arrest if you make statements liable to excite indiscipline among the troops!" he said. "Don't listen to her, Miss Linton, and I'll tell you about the family she spoils. There's Geoffrey, who is six, and Alison, who's five--at least I think she's five, isn't she, Stella?"

"Much you know of your babies!" said his wife, with a fine scorn.

"Alison won't be five for two months."

"Hasn't she a pa.s.sion for detail!" said her husband admiringly.

"Well, five-ish, Miss Linton. And finally there's a two-year-old named Michael. And when they all get going together they make rather more noise than a regiment. But they're rather jolly, and I hope you'll come and see them."

"Oh, do," said Mrs. Hunt. "Geoff would just love to hear about Australia. He told me the other day that when he grows up he means to go out there and be a kangaroo!"

"I suppose you know you must never check a child's natural ambitions!"

Mr. Linton told her gravely.

"Was that your plan?" she laughed.

"Oh, my pair hadn't any ambitions beyond sitting on horses perpetually and pursuing cattle!" said Mr. Linton. "That was very useful to me, so I certainly didn't check it."

"H'm!" said Jim, regarding him inquiringly. "I wonder how your theory would have lasted, Dad, if I'd grown my hair long and taken to painting?"

"That wouldn't have been a natural ambition at all, so I should have been able to deal with it with a clear conscience," said his father, laughing. "In any case, the matter could safely have been left to Norah--she would have been more than equal to it."

"I trust so," said Norah pleasantly. "_You_ with long hair, Jimmy!"

"It's amazing--and painful--to see the number of fellows who take long hair into khaki with them," said Major Hunt. "The old Army custom was to get your hair cut over the comb for home service and under the comb for active service. Jolly good rule, too. But the subaltern of the New Army goes into the trenches with locks like a musician's. At least, too many of him does."

"Never could understand any one caring for the bother of long hair,"

said Jim, running his hand over his dark, close-cropped poll. "I say, isn't it time we made a move, if we're going to a show?" He looked half-shyly at Mrs. Hunt. "Won't you and the Major come with us? It's been so jolly meeting you."

"Good idea!" said Mr. Linton, cutting across Mrs. Hunt's protest. "Do come--I know Norah is longing to be asked to meet the family, and that will give you time to fix it up." He over-ruled any further objections by the simple process of ignoring them, whereupon the Hunts wisely gave up manufacturing any more: and presently they had discovered two taxis, Norah and her father taking Mrs. Hunt in the first, leaving the three soldiers to follow in the second. They slid off through the traffic of Fleet Street.

"We really shouldn't let you take possession of us like this," said Mrs. Hunt a little helplessly. "But it has been so lovely to see Douglas cheerful again. He has not laughed so much for months."

"You are anxious about his hand?" David Linton asked.

"Yes, very. He has had several kinds of treatment for it, but it doesn't seem to get better; and the pain is wearing. The doctors say his best chance is a thorough change, as well as treatment, but we can't manage it--the three babies are expensive atoms. Now there is a probability of another operation to his hand, and he has been so depressed about it, that I dragged him out to dinner in the hope of cheering him up. But I don't think I should have succeeded if we hadn't met you."

"It was great luck for us," Norah said. "The boys have always told us so much of Major Hunt. He was ever so good to them."

"He told me about them, too," said Mrs. Hunt. "He liked them because he said he never succeeded in boring them!"

"Why, you couldn't bore Jim and Wally!" said Norah, laughing. Then a great idea fell upon her, and she grew silent, leaving the conversation to her companions as the taxi whirred on its swift way through the crowded streets until they drew up before the theatre.

In the vestibule she found her father close to her and endeavoured to convey many things to him by squeezing his arm very hard among the crowd, succeeding in so much that Mr. Linton knew perfectly well that Norah was the victim of a new idea--and was quite content to wait to be told what it was. But there was no chance of that until the evening was over, and they had bade farewell to the Hunts, arranging to have tea with them next day: after which a taxi bore them to the Kensington flat, and they gathered in the sitting-room while Norah brewed coffee over a spirit-lamp.

"I'm jolly glad we met the Hunts," Jim said. "But isn't it cruel luck for a man like that to be kept back by a damaged hand!"

"Rough on Mrs. Hunt, too," Wally remarked. "She looked about as seedy as he did."

"Daddy----!" said Norah eagerly.

David Linton laughed.

"Yes, I knew you had one," he said, "Out with it--I'll listen."

"They're Tired People," said Norah: and waited.

"Yes, they're certainly tired enough," said her father. "But the children, Norah? I don't think we could possibly take in little children, considering the other weary inmates."

"No, I thought that too," Norah answered eagerly. "But don't you remember the cottage, Daddy? Why shouldn't they have it?"

"By Jove!" said Jim. "That jolly little thatched place?"

"Yes--it has several rooms. They could let their own house, and then they'd save heaps of money. It would get them right out of London; and Mrs. Hunt told me that London is the very worst place for him--the doctors said so."

"That is certainly an idea," Mr. Linton said. "It's near enough to London for Hunt to run up for his treatment. We could see that they were comfortable." He smiled at Norah, whose flushed face was dimly visible through the steam of the coffee. "I think it would be rather a good way to begin our job, Norah."

"It would be so nice that it doesn't feel like any sort of work!" said Norah.

"I think you may find a chance of work; they have three small children, and not much money," said her father prophetically.

"I say, I hope the Major would agree," Jim put in. "I know he's horribly proud."

"We'll kidnap the babies, and then they'll just have to come," Norah laughed.

"Picture Mr. Linton," said Wally happily, "carrying on the good work by stalking through London with three kids sticking out of his pockets--followed by Norah, armed with feeding-bottles!"

"Wounded officer and wife hard in pursuit armed with shot guns!"

supplemented Jim. "I like your pacifist ideas of running a home for Tired People, I must say!"

"Why, they would forget that they had ever been tired!" said Norah.

"I think it's rather a brilliant notion--there certainly wouldn't be another convalescent home in England run on the same lines. But you're not good on matters of detail--people don't have feeding-bottles for babies of that age."

"I'm not well up in babies," said Wally. "Nice people, but I like somebody else to manage 'em. I thought bottles were pretty safe until they were about seven!"

"Well, we'll talk it over with the Hunts to-morrow--the cottage, not the bottles," Mr. Linton said. "Meanwhile, it's bed-time, so good-night, everybody." He dispersed the a.s.sembly by the simple process of switching off the electric light--smiling to himself as Jim and Norah two-stepped, singing, down the tiny corridor in the darkness.

But the mid-day post brought a worried little note from Mrs. Hunt, putting off the party. Her husband had had a bad report on his hand that morning, and was going into hospital for an immediate operation.

She hoped to fix a day later on--the note was a little incoherent.