"Say good-bye to him for me, George," she said. "I have to lie down before dinner."
I smoked half a pipe and went into the garden. The conversation on the lawn was abounding in historic, blood-drenched names—La Bassée, Ypres, Neuve Chapelle, Festhubert; the men talked with bright eyes, and there was a flush on O'Rane's thin cheeks.
"Is it time to go?" he asked, as he felt my hand on his shoulder.
"There's a fresh lot due," I said.
He jumped up and waved a hand round the circle. "Good-bye, you chaps. You've bucked me up no end."
"Good-bye, sir! Good-bye!" The voices rang with cordiality and almost drowned the "Poor devil!" that fell from a man with one arm and no legs. "Come and see us again, sir."
"I'll try to! Now, George, I'm ready."
We went back to the house for our hats, and O'Rane asked if Lady Dainton was to be found. I said I thought she had better not be disturbed.
"Sonia sent 'good-bye' to you," I added.