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'How long does this take you, Grimes?' Arthur inquired discreetly of
one of the gardeners.
'Oh, a good while, Mr. Arthur--what with the pruning, and the
syringing, and the manuring,' said the man addressed, stopping to
wipe his brow, for the day was mild.
Arthur's look darkened a little. He fell into a reverie, while
Pamela was conscious at every step of his tall commanding presence,
of the Military Cross on his khaki breast, and the pleasant,
penetrating eyes under his staff cap. Arthur, she thought, must be
now over thirty. Before his recent wound he had been doing some
special artillery work on the Staff of an Army Corps, and was a very
rising soldier. He was now chafing hotly against the ruling of his
Medical Board, who were insisting that he was not yet fit to go back
to France.
Pamela meanwhile was going through moments of disillusion. After
these two years she had looked forward to the meeting with such
eagerness, such hidden emotion! And now--what was there to have been
eager about? They seemed to be talking almost as strangers.


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