For a moment she stood hesitating in the threshold.
The large hall was brilliantly lit up, and at
a table there sat a happy-faced, busy-looking little Boy
Scout. He, surely, would not repulse her? Gathering
courage she walked up to him.

"Is this the place," she asked, "where one makes
inquiries about prisoners of war?"

He jumped up and saluted. "Yes, madam," he
said civilly. "You've only got to go up those stairs
and then round the top, straight along. There are
plenty of ladies up there to show you the way."

As she walked towards the great staircase, and as
her eyes fell on a large panoramic oil painting of a
review held in a historic English park a hundred years
before, she remembered that it was here, in this very
house, that she had come to a great political reception
more than twenty years ago -- in fact just after her
return from Germany. She had been taken to it by
James Hayley's parents, and she, the happy, eager
girl, had enjoyed every moment of what she had
heard with indignant surprise some one describe as
a boring function.

As she began walking up the staircase, there rose
before her a vision of what had been to her so delightful
and brilliant a scene -- the women in evening dress
and splendid jewels; the men, many of them in uniform
or court dress; all talking and smiling to one
another as they slowly made their way up the wide,
easy steps.

She remembered with what curiosity and admiration
she had looked at the figure of her host. There
he had stood, a commanding, powerful, slightly stooping
figure, welcoming his guests. For a moment she

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v?