It was very pleasant and restful to Harry Luttrell after the sweat and labour of France.

He sighed as he folded his letter and addressed it to a friend in the War Office.
A letter-box stood upon a table close to the staircase.

He was carrying his letter over to it, when a girl came running lightly down the stairs and halted suddenly a step or two from the bottom.

She stood very still where Stella Croyle had stood a few minutes ago, and like Stella, she looked over the balustrade at Harry Luttrell.

Harry Luttrell had reached the letter-box when he caught sight of her, but he quite forgot to drop his letter through the slit.