A. E. W. Mason

“ I was dining eighteen months ago at the Sappers' mess at Chatham. And that boy's face came out of the crowd and took my eyes and my imagination too. You know, perhaps, how that happens at times. There seems to be no particular reason why it should happen at the moment. Afterwards you realise that there was very good reason. A great career, perhaps, perhaps only some one signal act, an act typical of a whole unknown life, leaps to light and justifies the claim the young face made upon your sympathy. Anyhow, I noticed young Linforth. ”

“ Sir John Casson moved suddenly in his chair. Moreover, Sybil Linforth's eyes were at that moment resting with a quiet scrutiny upon his face.
"It was difficult to see exactly what she was wearing," he said. "The gap in the crowd filled up so quickly."
"There was time enough for any woman," said Mrs. Linforth with a smile. "And more than time enough for any mother."
"Mrs. Oliver is always, I believe, exquisitely dressed," said Sir John with an assumption of carelessness. "I am not much of a judge myself." ”

“ The Colonel was not a very observant man. Linforth was one of the subalterns—a good bat and a good change bowler. That was all. Only I happened to look round the walls of the Sappers' mess. There are portraits hung there of famous members of that mess who were thought of no particular account when they were subalterns at Chatham. There's one alive to-day. Another died at Khartoum."
"Yes," said Mrs. Linforth.
"Well, I made the acquaintance of your son that night," said Sir John.
Mrs. Linforth stood for a moment silent, her face for the moment quite beautiful. Then she broke into a laugh. ”