It was true that, apart from the doubtful evidence of a bronzed skin and upright frame, there was nothing about him to suggest that he had been a soldier: no service lapel or regimental badge in his grey Norfolk jacket.

But an Englishman of his class would be hardly likely to wear either once he had left the Army.

It was almost certain that he must have seen service in the war, and by no means improbable that he had been bowled over by shell-shock, like many thousands more of equally splendid specimens of young manhood.

Any other conclusion to account for the strange condition of a young man like him seemed unworthy and repellent.
"It _must_ be shell-shock, and a very bad case--probably supposed to be cured, and sent up here to recuperate," thought Colwyn.

"I'll keep an eye on him." As Colwyn resumed his breakfast it occurred to him that some of the other guests might have been alarmed by the young man's behaviour, and he cast his eyes round the room to see if anybody else had noticed him.
There were about thirty guests in the big breakfast apartment, which had been built to accommodate five times the number--a charming, luxuriously furnished place, with massive white pillars supporting a frescoed ceiling, and lighted by numerous bay windows opening on to the North Sea, which was sparkling brightly in a brilliant October sunshine.