“Then he’s near Cantigny,” said Mrs. Leslie quickly, “for that’s where Arthur is now.”
At mention of her eldest son she flushed a little, chiefly with pride, but that feeling was always mixed with fear, and more than ever now, since the opening of the great offensive. Arthur Leslie had served for over three years, had received four wounds, and had been decorated with the Victoria Cross and the Croix de Guerre. In his mother’s anxious thoughts it seemed almost too much to hope that he should be longer spared.
Lucy glanced up at Mrs. Leslie’s face, in that moment when her thoughts were far away from the tea-table and the cheerful room, thinking as she had often done before, how gay and merry Cousin Janet must have been in the happy days before the war. She was cheerful still, in spite of the daily crushing weight upon her, but her lips were close set, and her dark eyes had a sad earnestness behind their glancing brightness. “Two sons and her husband,” Lucy thought. “That’s one more than Mother has to worry for.”
“Come, children,” Mrs. Leslie said, rousing herself after a moment. “Let’s go in and get the gauze cut and arranged for to-morrow’s work. I expect a good many will be here.”
The two girls rose obediently, and as they did so, the ring of the front door-bell sounded through the house.
“Perhaps that’s some one come to help us,” suggested Janet, while her mother, putting behind her the ever-present dread of a telegram from the War Office, said:
“More likely it’s old Mrs. Fry with those eggs she promised to collect for me.”
She turned as she spoke to learn from the servant who the visitor was. The newcomer, however, did not wait for announcement, but came straight on, and in another moment Mr. Henry Leslie walked into the room.
“Cousin Henry!” cried Lucy and Janet in one amazed breath.
He carried his hat and gloves still in his hand, and his kind, bright face was heavily marked with weariness and anxiety.