"I suppose you have made it much stronger in the last few months—since the Germans began to do badly on the Western front?"
Parkson looked at her quickly, and she broke into a little musical laugh.
"How silly I am!" she exclaimed. "I am talking just like a man. That comes of living with a Member of Parliament."
This was the only reference she had made to her husband, but she made it in a tone which was intended to convey to Parkson that Mr. Beecher Monmouth was completely and irrevocably dead, and that being a young and vital woman, she, on her part, could not be expected to mourn his loss eternally.
They descended the steps together, and, in pretty timidity, she laid her fingers upon his arm. In Parkson's short career of gallantry he had never felt so much a man of the world as at that moment.
When the steep descent had been made, and they were upon the level of the lower fort, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth expressed much interest in the view that was to be obtained from that level. But Parkson shook his head, and explained that no visitors whatever were admitted to the lower fort.
Failing in that project, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth turned her eyes upon the tall barred gate which cut her off from the world outside. Parkson explained to her with a masterful smile, that, until he gave the word, she was a prisoner in the fort.
"You can test it, if you like," he said; "all you have to do is to walk to the gate and try to get out."
It was nearly six o'clock, and Parkson was due upon duty at seven.
"Look here," he said, "I have just time to show you out of the fort the other way, across the links. I'm afraid you'll have to go up the steps again."