The little chauffeur rose and followed her swift and retreating figure down the platform. Far down the train Joe who was leaning out of a window exchanged words with her as she came up.
"I don't like it, sir," Alf said, low. "Dirty business I call it. Somebody ought to interfere if pore old Ern won't."
Joe now looked along the train at him with a scowl.
"Ah, you!" came the engineer's scolding voice, loud yet low. "Dirty tyke! Drop it!"
"Well, between you she ought to be well looked after," muttered the Colonel getting into the carriage.
A fortnight later the Colonel was being driven home by Alf from a meeting of the League at Battle. Mrs. Lewknor, whose hostel was thriving now, had stood him the drive and accompanied him. It was a perfect evening as they slid along over Willingdon Levels and entered the outskirts of the town. Opposite the Recreation Ground Alf slowed down and, slewing round, pointed.
On a platform a man, bareheaded beneath the sky, was addressing a larger crowd than usually gathered at that spot on Saturday evenings.
"What is it?" asked Mrs. Lewknor.
"The German party back," answered Alf. "That's Burt speaking, and Mr. Geddes alongside him."
The engineer's voice, brazen from much bawling, and yet sounding strangely small and unreal under the immense arch of heaven, came to them across the open.