"Come and have lunch with me," said the young red-hatted officer next to G.J. "I haven't got to be back till two-thirty, and I want to talk music for a change. Do you know I'm putting in ninety hours a week at the W.O.?"
"Can't," G.J. replied, with an affectation of jauntiness. "I'm engaged for lunch. Sorry."
"Who you lunching with?"
"Mrs. Smith."
The Staff officer exclaimed aghast:
"Conception?"
"Yes. Why, dear heart?"
"My dear chap. You don't know. Carlos Smith's been killed. She doesn't know yet. I only heard by chance. News came through just as I left. Nobody knows except a chap or two in Casualties. They won't be sending out to-day's wires until two or three o'clock."
G.J., terrified and at a loss, murmured:
"What am I to do, then?"