All at once Rose heard the sound of quick footsteps
to her right, on the path outside. She moved
back into the paved court in front of the Trellis House,
and stood, a charming vision of youth and freshness,
in her pale mauve cotton frock, by a huge stone jar
filled with pink geraniums.

And then, a moment later, the tall figure of Jervis
Blake suddenly swung into view. He was very pale,
and there was an eager, absorbed, strained look on his
face. In his hand was a white telegraph form.

Rose ran forward, and once more opened the gate.
"Jervis!" she cried. "What is it? What's the matter?
Have you had bad news from home?"

He shook his head, and she saw that he was trying
to smile. But there was still that on his face which
she had never seen before -- a rapt, transfigured look
which made her feel -- and she both disliked and resented
the feeling -- as if he were, for the moment,
remote from herself. But he stayed his steps, and
came through the gate.

For a moment he stood opposite to her without
speaking. Then he took out of his breast pocket a
large sheet of notepaper folded in four. He opened
it, and held it out to her. It was headed "War Office,
Whitehall, London," and in it Jervis Blake, Esquire,
was curtly informed that, if he still desired to enter
the Army, he was at liberty to apply for a commission.
But in that case he was asked to report himself as
soon as possible.

Rose read the cold, formal sentences again and
again, and a lump rose to her throat. How glad she
was! How very, very glad! Indeed, her gladness,
her joy in Jervis's joy, surprised herself.

[[111]]

p110 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p111w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p112

v?