"Give me my own company at my back, my artillery well posted, my reserves in position, the enemy not too strongly entrenched, and our dear old Colonel's voice shouting 'At them, boys!' That's my idea of a scrap." There was a little murmur of sympathy.

Ralph Conyers, however, his cigar in the corner of his mouth, smiled imperturbably.
"Sounds all right," he admitted, "but for sheer excitement give me a misty morning, the bows of a forty-knot destroyer cutting the sea into diamonds, decks cleared for action, and old Dick in oilskins on the salute--'Enemy's submarine, sir, on the port bow, sir.'" "And what would you do then ?" Granet asked.
"See page seven Admiralty instructions this afternoon," the other replied, smiling.

"We're not taking it sitting down, I can tell you." The Admiral rose and pushed back his chair.
"I think," he said, "if you are quite sure, all of you, that you will take no more port, we should join the ladies." They trooped out of the room together.

Thomson kept close behind Ralph Conyers and Captain Granet, who were talking no more of submarines, however, but of the last ballet at the Empire.

Geraldine came towards them as they entered the drawing-room.
"Hugh," she begged, passing her arm through his, "would you mind playing bridge?
The Mulliners are going on, and mother does miss her rubber so.
And we can talk afterwards, if you like," she added.
Thomson glanced across the room to where Granet was chatting with some other guests.