“I won’t believe it—that they can hold out a month longer,” said Mrs. Macmanus, resolutely. “It’s only a temporary advantage, because no British general would ever count upon a trickery of which he is incapable himself. And what is life without hope? I hated the thought of the war. Is it true that Bobs and Kitchener are to be sent out?”
“Beginning of Chapter II. Wish I were not too old to go out. You’ll be volunteering, Algy, I suppose?”
Lord Algy looked up with something like animation in his pale eyes. “Rather,” he said. “One more lump, please. Was accepted yesterday.” And two months later, with as little fuss, he died at Pieter’s Hill.
“Oh, dear!” cried Mrs. Winstone. “What will become of us all? Fancy your doin’ such a thing, Algy! All the men are goin’, whether they have to or not. London will be too dull. Geoffrey Herbert’s regiment is under orders, and such ducks are in it. I wonder if Bridgit cares?”
“She won’t miss him,” said Mrs. Macmanus, dryly. “She could hardly see less of him there than here, but she’s got a heart and no doubt would spare a tear if he fell.”
“I’ll tell you who cares,” said Pirie, “and that’s Jones. He’s loaded down with Kaffirs, and is in a blue funk. Glad I unloaded when every one else was rushin’ at ’em—thought the war would be over in two weeks, old Jones did, ha! ha! He can’t get rid of a share.”
“Will it matter to Ishbel?” asked Algy.
“Not a bit,” said Mrs. Winstone. “She’s paid him off long since, and opened a dressmakin’ establishment, besides her hat shop. It’ll be just her luck to have all the smart people go into mournin’ at once.”
“Well, thank heaven the jingoes have shut up a bit—what is the matter?”
Mrs. Winstone had exclaimed, “How odd! I just saw Julia go up the stairs.”