“Yes! even if we have to pull them out of kingdom come,” they averred. The rest of us started for home. How it came about that Anthony Kinsella and I were once more alone together I cannot tell. Mrs Skeffington-Smythe disappeared into the moonlight with Mr Hunloke and some others. Mrs Brand was ahead again with Gerry Deshon, though I could not but observe that the direction of her march was not in the direction of home. Her voice came floating back to me:
“Don’t go in without me, will you? Remember that you are chaperoning me.”
“Will you mind if I call at the post-office?” asked my companion suddenly, out of the silence that encompassed us. “I expect an important wire from headquarters.”
Of course I did not mind. I minded nothing but that this enchanted hour must soon be over. Slowly we sauntered onwards through the silver night, and came at last, however much we loitered, to the post-office. It was closed, but a light shone in a window, and Major Kinsella rapped and hailed the mad postmaster by name:
“Bleksley, hullo!” Instantly the window was opened, and the divine performer upon banjos put out his blond rumpled head: “Wire come, Bleksley?”
“Not yet, but the mails from Victoria are just in by runner. If you could wait a few minutes until I unseal them and sort out the private letters—”
Major Kinsella hesitated, looking at me.
“Of course—certainly wait,” I said hastily. “I don’t mind.”
“Thank you,” he said. “If it were my own business it could rip—but it’s the country’s.”
“I shan’t be more than five or six minutes,” said the postmaster. “Would you like to go up into the watch-tower to wait?”