"Do go on!" said the fan.
"When you tried to tap it."
"You're all alike." She sighed. "That is, you give the keynote, and the others take up the tune. Even Bingo—Bingo, whom I firmly believed incapable of keeping a secret in which his dearest interests were concerned longer than ten minutes—Bingo has sprung a surprise on me. I shall end by falling in love with my own husband—such an indecent thing to do after seven years of married life!"
"Fortunately, the scene of your lapse from the crooked path of custom is distant from the West End of London nearly seven thousand miles. And you can rely upon me for secrecy."
"Ah, that!... If only you did leak a little information now and then." Her eyebrows went up to the dry fringe of her Pompadour transformation. "For the sake of the thirsting public at home, to say nothing of my reputation as a Special Correspondent——"
"Drive over and call on General Brounckers at Head Laager, Geitfontein, on the Border, early to-morrow. Perhaps he would oblige you with matter for a paragraph, and forward the cable by private wire?"
Her birdlike eyes were bright on him.
"I would go if I thought I could get anything by going. Special information—with reference to a Plan of Attack. Oh! if you knew how I'm dying to be really under fire. To hear bullets zip-zip—isn't that the sound?—as they strike the ground or walls, and shells scream overhead!"
She clasped her sunburnt little jewelled hands in affected ecstasy. His eyes were stern, and the lines about his mouth deepened.
"Pray to-night that you may never hear those sounds you speak of!"