or counting letters on taps, was that the London and South Western's allowance of washing-water is inadequate. He used every drop, rioting in the cold tingle on neck and arms. To shave in a moving train balked him, but the next halt gave him a chance, which, to his own surprise, he took. As he stared at himself in the mirror he smiled and nodded. There were points about this person with the clear, if sunken, eye and the almost uncompressed mouth. But when he bore his bag back to his compartment, the weight of it on a limp arm humbled that new pride.
'My friend,' he said, half aloud, 'you go into training. You're putty.'
She met him in the spare compartment, where her maid had laid breakfast.
'By Jove!' he said, halting at the doorway, 'I hadn't realised how beautiful you were!'
'The same to you, lad. Sit down. I could eat a horse.'
'I shouldn't,' said the maid quietly. 'The less you eat the better.' She was a small, freckled woman, with light fluffy hair and pale-blue eyes that looked through all veils.
'This is Miss Blaber,' said Miss Henschil. 'He's one of the soul-weary too, Nursey.'
'I know it. But when one has just given it up a full meal doesn't agree. That's why I've only brought you bread and butter.'
She went out quietly, and Conroy reddened.
'We're still children, you see,' said Miss Henschil. 'But I'm well enough to feel some shame of it. D'you take sugar?'
