“Aw’fly glad. Jolly good to see you, m’dear. Handsome no end.”
He took her hand and bent over her fingers. Such a broad back he had, such a finely shaped head, such shoulders, such strong hands that were capable of so much but had achieved so little. And were these all that she could have seen in him? Reason told her that it was her mind that demanded a mate. Could it be that she was in love with a beautiful body?
There was something pathetic in the way he looked at her. She felt very sorry for him, but Betty Heathcote’s laughter was still ringing in her ears.
“Thanks, Cyril,” she said coolly. “I’ve wanted to see you—tonight—to tell you that at last I’ve volunteered with the Red Cross.”
Hammersley peered at her blankly and then with a contortion set his eyeglass.
“Red Cross—you! Oh, I say now, Doris, that’s goin’ it rather thick on a chap——”
“It’s true. Father’s fitting out an ambulance corps and has promised to let me go.”
John Rizzio, tall, urbane, dark and cynical, who had joined them, heard her last words and broke into a shrug.
“It’s the khaki, Hammersley. The women will follow it to the ends of the earth. Broadcloth and tweeds are not the fashion.” He ran his arm through Hammersley’s. “There’s nothing for you and me but to volunteer.”
The Honorable Cyril only stared at him blankly.