Ruth’s face lighted with a sudden thought. “The kingfishers?” she said.
“They are the shyest of all birds. I suppose we humans have always tried to catch and kill them for their plumage. Dick hated that sort of thing.” Her face grew hard and the strange fire burnt up again in her eyes. “And then he was shot down himself—shot down as we shoot any bird or beast.”
She stopped suddenly, the words choked back in her throat, as the Condor car came over the bridge and pulled up at the gate.
Then she slipped down from the wall and stood looking up at Ruth. “Thank you for letting me go round with you—and talk. It’s been good.” She pushed up the heavy wave of hair from her forehead under her wide-brimmed hat. “It’s taken me back for a little, to what life used to be, from what I am to what I was. And now let us go and pick up all the things Lady Condor will drop.”
Lady Condor’s cheerful chatter was already with them.
“Now have I got everything? Yes—no—where is my handkerchief? Did I put it into the pocket? The parcels can all stay. No one will touch them. Oh, there it is! Thank you, Roger.”
She began to ascend the path, shedding a blue chiffon scarf, which North retrieved as he followed her.
“Oh, there you are, Violet! And this is Seer? An unpardonably late call, but I have been taking the chair at a meeting to discuss the Women’s Victory Memorial. We discussed for hours—the weirdest ideas! And the heat! At the Town Hall? Yes. Why are town halls and hospitals always hideous? There can’t be any necessity for it. Tea indoors, out of the sun? How nice! I never do like tea out-of-doors myself really, though sometimes I pretend to. And the dear old room—almost just like it used to be. I am glad, though it makes me want to cry. Yes. But where was I? Oh yes, the weirdest ideas. Even a crematorium was suggested. No, I am not inventing, dear Violet. The good lady had lost her husband and was obliged to take him all the way to Woking. Most trying, of course! I was really sorry for her. But seemed so odd for a Victory Memorial. So we settled on a maternity home, a quite excellent idea. Trenching on the improper, of course. It brought the fact of babies coming into the world into such a very concrete form as it were. But so necessary just now—and that they should have every chance. So even the dear ladies who attend St. Christopher’s Church agreed. We parted in the utmost harmony. So pleasant—and so unusual!”
“And have you settled on a War Memorial?” asked North, rescuing her handkerchief from Selina’s clutches.
“Not yet! And I see no prospect—we are still talking. We shall until some adventurous spirit among us says, ‘Well, something must be done.’ Then we shall go the way of least resistance—always so safe and so unoriginal. Another of those delightful sandwiches, please. Your own Devonshire cream, of course. Why can’t my cook make Devonshire cream? But where was I? Oh yes—the War Memorial. Then we shall erect an artistically offensive monument. Who invented that word, I wonder. And did the word come from the monstrosity, or after? But it is so descriptive of what it is. Yes. And what is your idea of a good memorial, Miss Seer?”