Ian Hay

“ You are the nicest woman I know. Au revoir! Exit Admonitory Uncle. Tell Joan I will be back in good time.’
The door closed, and Sir Anthony’s footsteps died away in the direction of the front door. Mildred crossed to a little table beside the fireplace. Upon it stood three photographs—one of each of her children. One by one she picked them up and examined them. She lingered a little longer over Molly than the others. Suddenly the door behind her opened, and Thwaites appeared. Mildred guiltily set down Molly’s photograph and turned towards the window. Thwaites began to collect the tea-things. ”

“ Her face beneath her white felt boating-hat was soft and round, and her expression, especially when she looked at her children, both whimsical and tender. She had the easy smile and the comprehending eyes which mark people of a large and tolerant sense of humour. ”

“ She looked down affectionately upon the small figure at her side—a little girl of nine, with a mop of black curly hair, dark blue eyes, and a countenance rendered crimson by recent exertion.
‘I did,’ corrected Molly. She was a literal and truthful child, lacking Joan’s worldly poise. Her voice was deeper, too. ”

“ They were terribly upset; but seeing that I was determined, they gave way. So Thwaites and I packed up—you can imagine Thwaites’s comments on the excursion!—and went off to Cape Town together. There we were caught by the South African War.’
‘And couldn’t get back—eh?’
‘I am not sure that I wanted to. I went and worked in Wynberg Hospital. I was quite happy there. You see, I was doing something useful for the first time in my life. There I met—Denis. He was one of my first patients.’
Sir Anthony nodded comprehendingly.
‘A wounded officer—eh? ”