But Roughsedge's contempt for his brilliant and successful neighbor--on the ground of selfish ambitions and unpatriotic trucklings--was, in truth, much more active than anything Marsham had ever shown--or felt--toward himself.

For in the young soldier there slept potentialities of feeling and of action, of which neither he nor others were as yet aware.
Nevertheless, he faced the facts.

He remembered the look with which Diana had returned to the Beechcote drawing-room, where Marsham awaited her, the day before--and told himself not to be a fool.
Meanwhile he had found an opportunity in which to tell her, unheard by his parents, that he was practically certain of his Nigerian appointment, and must that night break it to his father and mother.

And Diana had listened like a sister, all sympathy and kind looks, promising in the young man's ear, as he said good-bye at the garden gate, that she would come again next day to cheer his mother up.
He stood looking after her as she walked away; his hands in his pockets, a flush on his handsome face.

How her coming had glorified and transformed the place! No womanish nonsense, too, about this going of his!--though she knew well that it meant fighting.