He was surprised to find her in a white frock--inclined, even, to be just a little bit shocked.
And there was something else.

Enid Crofton had enjoyed the War--she had admitted this just a little shamefacedly a week ago, when they two were having dinner together at the Savoy Grill, where she had been easily the prettiest woman in the room.

At the time he had felt indulgently that it was a good thing that someone should have gone through that awful time untouched by the pains and scars of war.

But now everything seemed different, somehow.

Beechfield was a place of mourning, and in a place of mourning this smiling, beautifully dressed, almost too pretty young creature looked out of place.