She had been so accustomed to being alone for a great part of her time that the constant society of her new friends had tired her the least bit. Oh, she liked them immensely. It was not that, only that some natures require occasional solitude. And no one can be really lonely in a garden.
Had there been wounded Belgian soldiers on the Countess’ estate Nona felt that she would have made the effort to meet them, but up to the present she had not seen an injured soldier, although soldiers of the other kind she had seen in great numbers, marching through the gray streets of London, splendid, khaki-clad fellows, handsome and serious. Even for them there had been no beating of drums, no waving of flags. Nona was thinking of this now while half of her attention was being bestowed on the beauties surrounding her. England was not making a game or a gala occasion of her part in this great war; for her it was a somber tragedy with no possible result save victory or death.
During her divided thinking Nona had wandered into a portion of the garden known as “The Maze.” It was formed of a great number of rose trellises, the one overlapping the other until it was almost impossible to tell where the one ended and the other began. Nona must have walked inside for half an hour without the least desire to escape from her perfumed bower. The scene about her seemed so incredibly different from anything that she had the right to expect, she wished the impression to sink deeply into her consciousness that she might remember it in the more sorrowful days to come.
Then unexpectedly the garden came to an end and the girl stepped out onto a green lawn, with a small stone house near by which she recognized as the gardener’s cottage.
Between the garden and the house, however, prone on the ground and asleep, lay a long figure.
Nona caught her breath, first from surprise and next from pity.
A heavy rug had been placed under the sleeper and a lighter one thrown over him. Evidently he had been reading and afterwards had fallen asleep, for magazines and papers were tumbled about and the cover partly tossed off.
At least, Nona could see that the figure was that of a young man of about twenty-two or three and that he must recently have been seriously ill. It was odd that under his tan his skin could yet manage to show so pallid and be so tightly drawn over his rather prominent cheek bones and nose. By his side were a pair of tall crutches and one of his long legs was heavily bandaged.
Nona was standing within a few feet of him, perfectly still, not daring to move or speak for fear of waking him. Evidently the young man was the gardener’s son who had come home on a leave of absence while recovering from a wound.
But the next instant and without stirring, his eyes had opened and were gazing lazily into Nona’s.