Granet seemed scarcely to hear her words. A curious fit of
abstraction had seized him. His head was turned towards the corridor,
he seemed to be waiting.

"Queer sort of stick, Thomson," he remarked presently. "Is he a
great friend of yours, Miss Conyers?"

She hesitated for a moment.

"I have known him for some time."

Something in her tone seemed to disturb him. He leaned towards her
quickly. His face had lost its good-humoured indifference. He was
evidently very much in earnest.

"Please don't think me impertinent," he begged, "but--is he a very
great friend?"

She did not answer. She was looking over his shoulder towards where
Major Thomson, who had just returned, was answering a little stream
of questions.

"The man is in a shockingly weak state," he announced. "He is a
Belgian, has been wounded and evidently subjected to great
privations. His heart is very much weakened. He had a bad fainting
fit, but with a long rest he may recover."

The little party broke up once more into groups. Granet, who had
drawn for a moment apart and seemed to be adjusting the knots of his