Only a week before I had received an exuberant letter from him extolling his men as "super-devil-angels," and imploring me if I loved him and desired to establish the supremacy of British arms, to send him some of Mrs.Marigold's potted shrimp.
And now, there he was dead; and, if lucky, buried with a little wooden cross with his name rudely inscribed, marking his grave.
I reached out my hand.
"My poor old Anthony!" He jerked his head and glance towards his wife and wheeled me to her side, so that I could put my hand on her shoulder.
"It's bitter hard, Edith, but--" "I know, I know.

But all the same--" "Well, damn it all!" cried Sir Anthony, in a quavering voice, "he died like a man and there's nothing more to be said." Presently he looked at his watch.
"By George," said he, "I've only just time to get to my Committee." "What Committee ?" I asked.
"The Lord Lieutenant's.

I promised to take the chair." For the first time Lady Fenimore lifted her stricken face.
"Are you going, Anthony ?" "The boy didn't shirk his duty.

Why should I ?" She looked at him squarely and the most poignant simulacrum of a smile I have ever seen flitted over her lips.
"Why not, darling?
Duncan will keep me company till you come back." He kissed his wife, a trifle more demonstratively than he had ever done in alien presence, and with a nod at me, went out of the room.
And suddenly she burst into sobbing again.
"I know it's wrong and wicked and foolish," she said brokenly.

"But I can't help it.