she's fretting because we would not allow -- or perhaps
I ought to say we discouraged the idea of -- a hasty
marriage. I feel sure it would do Edith good to see
some one, especially a dear little friend like Rose, who
has no connection with the Army, and who can look
at things in a sensible, normal manner."

And so mother and daughter, for an hour, went their
different ways, and Mrs. Otway, as she walked home
alone, told herself that anxiety became Mrs. Haworth,
that it rendered the Dean's wife less brusque, and made
her pleasanter and kindlier in manner. Poor Edith
was her ewe lamb, the prettiest of the daughters whom
she had started so successfully out into the world, and
the one who was going to make, from a worldly point
of view, the best marriage. Yes, it would indeed be a
dreadful thing if anything happened to Sir Hugh
Severn.

Casualties? What an odd, sinister word! One with
which it was difficult to become familiar. But it was
evidently the official word. Not for the first time she
reminded herself of the exact words the Prime Minister
in the House of Commons had used. They had
been "Our casualties are very heavy, though the exact
numbers are not yet known." Mrs. Otway wondered
uneasily when they would become known -- how soon,
that is, a mother, a sister, a lover, and yes, a friend,
would learn that the man who was beloved, cherished,
or close and dear as a friend may be, had become --
what was the horrible word? -- a casualty.

She walked through into her peaceful, pretty house.
Unless the household were all out, the front door was
never locked, for there was nothing to steal, and no

[[184]]

p183 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p184w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p185

v?