"Lady Rachel, you will take the train for Scotland to-night. You will then stay there the full period my department has prescribed for you." Lady Rachel flashed a rebellious look at him, but Dacent Smith continued in his unyielding tones: "Failing this, you will find yourself, I can assure you, in a place far more 'detestable' to you than even the most uncomfortable of hydros!"
He turned to his desk. For a moment Lady Rachel wavered, then, seeing from his attitude that resistance was hopeless, she lifted her head and went haughtily out of the room. John escorted her to the street, helped her into a taxi, and saw her drive away after a flash of her big eyes that was meant either to consume him with fire or to freeze him to death; he did not know which. When John returned his Chief was standing at the mantelshelf. The expression of sternness had entirely left his face. In his fingers he held the photograph of a charming girl, scarcely more than a child. For a minute he was silent, his eyes upon the figure in the silver frame; then he held up the picture and showed it to John.
"This is my niece, Treves," he said quietly.
John took the photograph and inspected it critically.
"An extremely pretty girl, sir."
Dacent Smith nodded.
"She is just eighteen, Treves. She became engaged to young Rashleigh, gunnery lieutenant on the Malta." His tones deepened in intensity. "That was four days ago—and to-day Rashleigh is dead. He was one of the finest fellows who ever stepped. And, in my opinion, he and two hundred others lost their lives solely because Lady Rachel Marvin could not keep her mouth shut. My niece, who is still only a child—you can see for yourself what she is like, Treves"—for the first time his voice shook with emotion—"my niece is at home lying in a semi-conscious condition. The doctors tell us that her reason is threatened—and all this because a silly woman babbled about things that didn't concern her!"
The man who was one of the greatest powers in the country was still holding the photograph in his fingers, his eyes fixed pitifully upon the delicate girlish beauty of his niece. He replaced it slowly on the mantelshelf, then, turning, stood looking before him, his hands clenched at his side. The sternness of his lips at that moment revealed to John all the hidden strength behind his kindly exterior; he was stirred to the depths. And suddenly he flashed a look at John and struck his open palm with a clenched fist.
"If I had my way, Treves," he said between tense lips, "if the powers that be would make me autocrat for a week, I'd treat these fool women as traitors. An unguarded word," he went on, "is, in my opinion, just as much an act of disloyalty in time of war as an insult to the flag or the army. If the public only knew it, we have lost ship after ship, and possibly thousands of men, as a result of vain gossip in clubs, trains, shops and smart drawing-rooms. On Saturday we lost a cruiser worth a million. Young Rashleigh died, and two hundred splendid sailors, because Lady Rachel Marvin must have her afternoon's social success! What do you think of it, Treves?"
John was thinking of the tragedy of it all—of the desolated homes—the two hundred homes where sorrow stalked that day. He was thinking of the sweet-faced, broken-hearted girl, hovering on the verge of sanity.