"And it's all owing to you," he exclaimed in a low
voice, "that I didn't go and make an ass of myself on
Wednesday. If it hadn't been for you, Rose, I should
have enlisted. This would have come too late. It _is_
luck to have seen you now, like this. You're the very
first I've told." He was wringing her hand, his face
now as flushed as it had been pale.

And as they stood there together, Rose suddenly
became aware that Anna, at the kitchen window, was
looking out at them both with a rather peculiar expression
on her emotional German face.

A feeling of annoyance swept over the girl; she
knew that to her old nurse every young man who
ever came to the Trellis House was a potential lover.
But even Anna might have left Jervis Blake out of the
category. There was nothing silly or -- or sentimental,
in the real, deep friendship they two felt for one
another.

And then Rose did something which surprised herself.
Withdrawing her hand from his, she exclaimed,
"I'll walk with you to the corner" -- and led the way
out, through the gate, and so along the empty roadway.

They walked along in silence for a few moments.
The Close was still deserted. Across the green, to
their right, rose the noble grey mass of the Cathedral.
In many of the houses the blinds were even now only
beginning to be pulled up.

"I rather expected yesterday that you would come
in and tell me that you were going off to be one of
the hundred thousand men Lord Kitchener has asked
for," she said at last.

"Of course I meant to be, but Mr. Robey thought

[[112]]

p111 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p112w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p113

v?