"I was not referring to any one," was my reply. "I was simply stating what I felt."
"For my own part, I believe that a man who is looking after the finances of the country may be doing more for his nation than by wearing khaki," he replied. "Don't you think so, Miss Lethbridge?"
"I think too much is made of the so-called heroism of soldiers," she said, evidently with a desire to please him. "Of course it was grand of Hugh to do what he did, but he was always like that." And she looked smilingly into Barcroft's face.
Again the girl angered me, and in my heart of hearts I despised her. But why should I be angry? Why should I care about her evident desire to please this young Cornishman? And then, realizing that my words were bordering on discourtesy, said:
"I expect the War Office will have written to his wife. Anyhow, I will see that she knows to-morrow that her husband is a hero."
At this, Isabella Lethbridge looked at her father and laughed, while he, having given me an angry look, talked about something else.
The evening, as far as I was concerned, was painful; and yet I was glad I had accepted the invitation, glad I had been there when the news of Hugh's bravery had arrived. Shortly after ten o'clock I took my leave, vowing to myself as I did so that I would never go there again. Indeed, as I reflected on what had taken place, I could see no reason for my being asked. I had nothing in common with Josiah Lethbridge, while, in spite of everything, Isabella Lethbridge was farther removed from me than ever.
"I hope you spent a pleasant evening, sir," said Simpson, as he helped me off with my coat.
I did not answer him. Why it was I could not tell, but my mind and heart were full of strange, tumultuous thoughts and feelings.
The next morning, I was on the point of sending Simpson for a carriage to take me over to John Treleaven's farm when Hugh's young wife burst into the room with a radiant smile upon her face.