“You’re talking the most arrant nonsense. I thought nothing of the sort. You think everybody is in love with you. Just because…”

“Because what?”

“Because of Carl Zimmerman.”

Her face darkened. I thought she was going to hit me.

“Don’t you ever mention him again!”

“Well, please don’t talk nonsense to me.”

She looked stricken suddenly. I had hated her a few minutes before. Now I felt that old affection stealing over me.

She said quietly, “That was mean of you, Lucinda.”

“I didn’t think to remind you of the dinner,” I said. “And it never occurred to me to attract his attention. If you had been here you would have come to the party. It wasn’t very grand.”

“You’re so young,” she said. “And it really seemed as though you were trying to keep me out. He’s a man of experience. He wouldn’t be interested in a schoolgirl. I’d hate to see you make a fool of yourself, Lucinda.”

“I was not the one to make a fool of myself. I’m not likely to over a man.”

“You throw yourself at him. You must let him do the chasing. The fact is, he is quite interested in me. I know it. One does know these things. I know how you feel about him. He really is rather fascinating, but you know absolutely nothing. He thinks of you as a child. He told me so. You mustn’t start thinking…”

“Thinking what?”

“That he likes you particularly. You’ll only get hurt.”

“As you did?” I could not help retorting. “Are you the one to give advice, Annabelinda?”

“Yes. If one is experienced, one is.”

“You are certainly experienced.”

“You should have let me know he was coming. However, it’s done and he is not over there…fighting, I suppose. I daresay he was terribly disappointed not to see me. Did he ask after me?”

“You were mentioned.”

“What did he say?”

“He just asked how you were.”

She nodded slowly. She said, “All I want to do is look after you, to stop you from getting hurt.”

“I don’t need looking after, and remember, you were the one who got hurt.”

“You do need looking after. Don’t get romantic thoughts about Marcus Merrivale. I know he is charming to everybody, but he is a man of the world. He’s got a reputation with women. Don’t go imagining him as the romantic lover, because you simply don’t know anything about such things.”

She left me soon after that, and I lay thinking about what she had said.

The weeks passed slowly. We settled down to a routine. My father was often away on what my mother called “House business,” by which she meant the House of Commons. One did not ask questions about such business.

With her usual efficiency, Miss Carruthers had begun her duties and we had lessons every day. Andrée had taken charge of Edward, and my mother said that would suffice for the moment and we need not think about a nanny for a while. Andrée was very capable and too many changes would not be good for the child.

My mother herself was very busy with all sorts of charities to aid what was called “the war effort”—mainly the Red Cross, in which she took a special interest. We were all called in to help from time to time.

It was one dark November day when Mrs. Cherry came to my room to tell me a gentleman had called to see me. He was waiting in the drawing room. I immediately thought of Marcus Merrivale. I glanced at myself in the mirror. My cheeks were pink, my eyes shining. I was excited.

I hurried down to the drawing room in a mood of pleasurable anticipation. I opened the door and there was Robert.

Delight swept over me. I had forgotten I was expecting Marcus.

“Robert!” I cried.

He was grinning at me rather sheepishly. He looked different in khaki. It was not really becoming. It would be later when he gained his commission and a smart uniform with it—but he was not yet in that position. He looked very fit and well. His skin was slightly tanned and he had lost just a little of that gangling look which had been so essentially Robert.

I rushed to him and we hugged each other.

“It is wonderful to see you,” I cried. “I have been wondering when I should.”

“I feel the same,” he replied. “It seems ages. I’ve heard all about your journey home. That must have been quite an adventure.”

“Oh, it was.”

“It was lucky that your uncle was able to arrange to have you brought out.”

“Otherwise we should have had to go with the refugees.”

“It was a Major Merrivale, I heard, who brought you home.”

“Yes. He was so good.”

“He would be. And his position helped, of course. I was dreadfully worried when I thought of you in that school. Belgium, of all places!”

“I often wonder what is happening there now. Madame Rochère, who owned the school, is a very aristocratic, haughty lady. I try to think of what might be happening to her.”

“It’s very unpleasant to be in an occupied country…something I hope we shall never have to face.”

“Of course we shall not have to! That would be quite unthinkable. There is always the Channel. It won’t be the same with the French.”

“That’s so. I often think about my grandfather…so does my mother. We don’t hear what’s happening in Bordeaux.”

“I think that Monsieur Bourdon will know how to look after himself.”

“So do I, but we should like to hear.”

“Robert, tell me about yourself.”

“Well…it’s a hard life at first, but I’m getting used to it. We do a lot of riding, which I enjoy, as you can guess, and one gets used to the long day and the shouting and the orders that have to be obeyed instantly. One doesn’t dislike it. There’s some wonderful comradeship, and it’s a good feeling when you drop into bed absolutely worn out, to sleep and sleep until reveille.”

“Are you longing to be home, Robert?”

“For a lot of reasons, yes. But we’ve got to fight this war and win it. If we all stayed at home, we’d never do that.”

“How long leave have you got?”

“Three days more. I’ve had two at home and the rest I’m spending in London.”

“Oh…good.”

“My sister and mother came up with me. They’re here now. My father had to stay behind. There’s so much work to do.”

“Does he mind your coming here?”

“You know how he is. He always sees the point and wants to do what the family wants. And of course, my mother and Annabelinda said we should spend the time in London to see you and your family.”

“I’m so glad you’re here.”

“It’s so long since I’ve seen you. It was last Christmas. Just think of that. We’ve never been away from each other so long before.”

“I don’t believe we have. How are you going to spend your leave now that you’re here?”

“With you…and…”

“With Annabelinda, your mother and the rest of us.”

“I daresay they’ll want to be off into town.”

“What a lovely prospect!”

He caught my hand and looked into my face. “Do you really mean that, Lucinda?”

“Of course I do.”

“You’ve changed a little.”

“In what way?”

“Grown up.”

“We’re doing that all the time.”

“By more than a year, I mean. I suppose it’s the war and all you must have seen on that awful journey. I heard about the baby.”

“Oh, yes. You must see Edward.”

“It must have been a terrible experience, seeing that woman dying….And it was wonderful of you to care about the baby.”

“I knew you’d understand.”

“There was nothing else you could have done. I hear he’s a fine little fellow.”

“And did you hear about Andrée Latour?”

“Yes, Annabelinda told me. She said Major Merrivale was wonderful.”

“Yes, he was.”

“I wish I’d been the one, Lucinda.”

“Well, you were in training, weren’t you, and I suppose Uncle Gerald thought he would do it very well…which he did.”

“It must have been extraordinary…the whole thing…and you just out of school.”

“I’m home now and things seem more or less normal. Miss Carruthers, one of the mistresses from the school, came with us. She’s acting as governess to me now.”

“Well, you’re only fifteen, of course.”

He sighed, and I said, “You seem to find that regrettable.”

“Well,” he admitted, “I wish you were a little older. Seventeen, say.”

“Seventeen? Is that such a ripe old age?”

“It’s an age when you can start thinking about the future.”

“I suppose one can start thinking about the future at any time.”

“I mean making plans…reasonable plans.”

I looked puzzled and he went on. “Never mind. We’ll talk about all that later. What would you like to do? Go to a theater? A pity we can’t go riding. We wouldn’t want to go in the Row. I’d like to gallop over fields.”

“We could do a little walking in the park. Just as we used to.”

“That would be fun. Could we get away from everyone?”

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” he said.

“I think that as this is your leave, you should choose.”

Annabelinda had come into the room. She kissed me fondly.

“I thought I’d let my big brother give you a surprise before letting you know we were here. What do you think of him?”

“I think he looks very well, and it is wonderful to see him.”

“I knew you’d think that. Lucinda’s a great admirer of yours, Robert.”

“The admiration is mutual.”

Annabelinda laughed. She was in good spirits.

Her mother came in. She looked very elegant; she was remarkably like her daughter. She swept me into her embrace.

“Dear Lucinda! How wonderful to see you!”

My mother was with her.

“Isn’t it a lovely surprise to see Robert?” she said.

I agreed that it was.

“I’m so glad you came here,” she added to Robert.

“Oh, I wanted to see you all.”

“And particularly his dear Lucinda,” added Annabelinda.

“Robert was just saying what he would like to do,” I said. “I told him he must make the decisions as it is his leave.”

“And only three days of it,” added my mother.

“Never mind,” said Robert. “I’ll make the most of it.”

We went into luncheon.

Annabelinda asked after Miss Carruthers and Andrée Latour.

“Miss Carruthers is a stickler for conventions,” explained my mother. “She dines with us on certain occasions, but I fancy she does so with a certain reluctance. She is very much aware of her place—and I really think prefers to eat alone. As for Andrée, she is in the nursery with Edward during the day, but very often dines with us.”

“And is it all working out well with this baby?” asked Aunt Belinda.

“Wonderfully. We wouldn’t be without him.”

“How cozy!” said Aunt Belinda. “But then you were always a cozy person, Lucie.”

“I’m not sure whether that is a compliment or not,” laughed my mother.

“Oh, it’s a compliment, Lucie dear. By the way, did you see any more of that nice Major Merrivale?”

Annabelinda was alert…watching me.

“No,” replied my mother. “Soldiers are kept very busy at a time like this.”

“What a pity. We missed him that time he came to dinner. I thought he was such a charming man.”

“Very charming,” said my mother.

“And of such a good family. This dreadful war…it just spoils everything.”

“It goes on and on,” said my mother. “And now we’ve declared war on Turkey. So…more trouble in that quarter. And wasn’t the sinking of the Good Hope and the Monmouth terrible?”

“I refuse to talk of these horrible things,” said Aunt Belinda. “I have had enough of it and so must you, Lucie. I expect Joel brings home all the horrible news, doesn’t he?”

“We don’t have to wait for that,” retorted my mother. “It’s in the papers.”

“My Robert is concerned about the land. Produce more and more crops. But as I said, enough! Are the shops still exciting? I don’t think we should neglect ourselves…just because there is a war on.”

My mother laughed at her, just as she must have laughed all through the years—and as I did with Annabelinda.

Then Robert told us some amusing stories about life on Salisbury Plain.

“You learn how to be Spartan and stoical,” he said. He imitated the sergeant major and told us some of the sarcastic remarks made about the pampered lives of the recruits before they had fallen into his hands: “You’re in the army now” and “Mummy’s not there to kiss her little darling and tuck him in at night.” Apparently there was one who took a sadistic delight in harassing any who showed signs of weakness.