"My waiting-room crowded with patient Duchesses. Yes, of course, she will be sorry then. I suppose she will have an illness, some 'obscure internal lesion' which will puzzle all the London doctors. As a last resource she will apply to me. I wave my wand. Hey, presto! she is cured! But you can't expect her to foresee all that. It would argue more than average intelligence, and besides, it would spoil the story."
CHAPTER II.
THE LISTS.
There was no doubt about it. The lists were up.
As the girls passed through the bar from Vigo Street, they could see a little knot of men, silent and eager, gathered on the steps in front of the notice-case. Those who had secured a good position were leisurely entering sundry jottings in their note-books; those behind were straining their eyes, straining every muscle in their bodies, in the endeavour to ascertain the one all-important fact.
"I told you we should have waited," Mona said quietly, striving to make the most of a somewhat limited stock of breath.
"If you tell me the name of the person you are interested in, perhaps I can help you," said a tall man who was standing beside them.
"Oh, thank you," Mona smiled pleasantly. "We can wait. We—are interested in—in several people."
He stood aside to let them pass in front of him, and in a few minutes their turn came.
"Second Division!" ejaculated Lucy, in mingled relief and disgust, as she came to her own name. "Thank heaven even for that! Just let me take a note of the others. Now for the Honours list, and Mona Maclean!"