Jones went past them with her laden tray, and Mrs. Willoughby grasped her arm.
"I want you to find me an overall for this lady before you stir another step," she shrieked emphatically.
"Nonsense, Lesbia!" interposed Lady Vivian brusquely. "I don't suppose there is such a thing to spare, and, besides, I don't want one."
She wore the plainest of dark coats and skirts and a soft silk shirt. Grace looked at her with composed admiration and a sense of gratitude. She did not wish to be further delayed with the heavy tray on her hands.
"There's my dear Lance-Corporal!" exclaimed Lesbia, and hurled herself in the direction of a burly form which appeared strongly impelled to seek cover behind the piano as she advanced.
Captain Trevellyan gently took the tray from Miss Jones.
"Where shall I take it?"
"Thank you very much," said Grace thankfully, dropping her aching arms. "That table over there, right at the end, if you will. It's very kind of you."
She turned to Lady Vivian rather apologetically. "I'm afraid I ought not to have let him do that, but we're rather behindhand tonight. Are you come to help?"
She supposed that this tall, curiously attractive new-comer was the wife of one of the officers from the camp.
"Yes, if you'll tell me what to do."
"If you'd carry trays? One of our workers is—is impeded tonight," said Grace, conscientiously selecting a euphemism for the peculiar handicap under which Miss Marsh was labouring.
For the next two hours Lady Vivian worked vigorously, in spite of a protest from John, who took the view of feminine weakness peculiar to unusually strong men.
"These trays are too heavy for any woman to carry! It's monstrous! I shall tell Char so."
"By all means tell her. I certainly think it's very bad for these girls, and at the end of a long day's work, too. But as for me, you know I'm as strong as a horse, Johnnie, and I enjoy the exercise. It warms me!"
Her face was glowing and her step elastic. John realized, not for the first time, that Sir Piers's slow, rambling walks round the grounds and still slower evening games of billiards formed the major part of his Cousin Joanna's physical activities. He stood watching her thoughtfully.
Char stopped in his immediate vicinity, and gave a couple of orders in her slow, despotic drawl. She rather wanted Johnnie to see how promptly and unquestioningly they were received.
Johnnie, however, appeared to have his thoughts elsewhere, and Char rather vexedly followed his gaze.
"How I wish my mother wouldn't do this sort of thing!" she said under her breath. "It's most tiring for her, and besides—"
"Besides?" inquired Trevellyan, always courteous, but never of the quickest at catching an inflection.
"I'm afraid I think it infra dig. Darting about with all these girls, when she's capable of such very different sort of work—if only she'd do it!"
"My dear Char, what on earth do you want her to do?" demanded Trevellyan, to whom it came as a shock that any one who was privileged to live near Joanna should think her anything but perfect.
"She is an extremely capable woman of business; why shouldn't she take up some big work for the Government? They are crying out for educated women."
"She couldn't possibly leave your father alone at Plessing."
"She could do a certain amount of work at home even without that. The truth is, Johnnie, that neither she nor my father have realized there's a war on at all. They've no sons out there in the trenches, and it hasn't hit them materially; they've not felt it in any single, smallest way. I shouldn't say it to any one but you, but there are times at Plessing when I could go mad. To hear my father talk on and on about whether some tree on the estate needs cutting or not, just as though on the other side of a little strip of sea—"
She broke off with a shudder that was not altogether histrionic.
"And mother—she wouldn't even knit socks, because it interfered with his billiards in the evenings! I don't understand her, Johnnie. She must know what it all means, yet it's all shoved away in the background. Brucey tells me that she's under standing orders not to discuss the news in the papers at breakfast, and mother won't have a single war-book in the house—not even a war-novel, if she can help it. It's as though they were deliberately trying to blind themselves. I can't understand it."
Trevellyan did not feel sure that he understood it, either, but, unlike Char, there was in his mind no shadow of criticism for that which he did not understand. The limitation, Trevellyan always felt, was entirely his.
But he was able to look sympathetically also at Char's vexed bewilderment.
"You're not at Plessing very much, nowadays, yourself."
"No. I don't think I could bear it, Johnnie. Of course they say I'm doing too much, but, after all, I'm of an age to decide that for myself, and to my mind there's simply no choice in the matter. Thank Heaven one can work!"
"Your undertaking is a colossal thing, in its way. It's wonderful of you, Char!"
She looked pleased.
"It's running well at present. Of course, I know what a tiny part of the whole it is really, but—" She broke off quickly as Lady Vivian joined them.
"Who is the little dark-haired girl I've been working with, Char? The one at that table...."
"Oh, a Miss—er—Jones," said Char languidly.
"You never told me you had any one of her sort here. I want to ask her out to Plessing. Couldn't we take her back in the car tonight?"
"My dear mother!" Char opened her eyes in an expression of exaggerated horror. "One of my staff?"
"Well?" queried Lady Vivian coolly, stripping off her borrowed overall.
"Quite out of the question. You don't in the least realize the official footing on which I have to keep those women."
"I should have thought you needn't be any the less official for showing some friendliness to a girl who's come all the way from Wales to help you."
"She's my under-secretary, mother."
"What! sub-scrub to the genteel Miss Delmege? She's got ten times her brains, and is a lady into the bargain."
It infuriated Char that her mother's cool, tacit refusal to acknowledge the infallibility of the Director of the Midland Supply Depôt could always make her feel like a little girl again.
She rallied all her most official mannerisms together.
"It's quite impossible for me to differentiate between the various members of the staff, or to make any unofficial advances to any of them."
"Very well, my dear. As, thank Heaven, I'm not a member of your staff, I can remain as unofficial as I please, and have nice little Miss Jones out to see me."
"Mother,"
