. . . But He wasn't a . . . Not a Socialist! What was it He said: Render unto Cæsar . . . It wouldn't be necessary to drum Him out of the army. . . " He said: "Good Lord! . . . Good Lord! . . . Of course his poor dear mother was a little . . . But, hang it! . . . The Wannop girl! . . . " Extreme discomfort overcame him. . . . Tietjens was half-way across from the inner room, coming towards them.
He said:
"Major Thurston is looking for you, sir. Very urgently. . . . " The general regarded him as if he had been the unicorn of the royal arms, come alive. He exclaimed:
"Major Thurston! . . . Yes! Yes! . . . " and, Tietjens saying to him:
"I wanted to ask you, sir. . . " he pushed Tietjens away as if he dreaded an assault and went off with short, agitated steps.
So sitting there, in the smoking-lounge of the hotel which was cram-jam full of officers, and no doubt perfectly respectable, but over-giggling women—the sort of place and environment which she had certainly never expected to be called upon to sit in; and waiting for the return of Tietjens and the ex-sergeant-major—who again was certainly not the sort of person that she had ever expected to be asked to wait for, though for long years she had put up with Tietjens' protégé, the odious Sir Vincent Macmaster, at all sorts of meals and all sorts of places . . . but of course that was only Christopher's rights . . . to have in his own house, which, in the circumstances, wasn't morally hers, any snuffling, nervous, walrus-moustached or
