“Oliver?”
“Yes, didn’t Peggy tell you?”
“I didn’t think Marmaduke would be interested,” said Peggy quickly. “He and Oliver have never been what you might call bosom friends.”
“I shouldn’t have minded about hearing of him,” said Doggie. “Why should I? What’s he doing?”
The Dean gave information. Oliver, now a captain, had come home on leave a month ago, and had spent some of it at the Deanery. He had seen a good deal of fighting, and had one or two narrow escapes.
“Was he keen to get back?” asked Doggie.
The Dean smiled. “I instanced his case in my remark as to the dangers of the solution of continuity.”
“Oh, rubbish, daddy,” cried his daughter, with a flush, “Oliver is as keen as mustard.” The Dean made a little gesture of submission. She continued. “He doesn’t like the beastliness out there for its own sake, any more than Marmaduke will. But he simply loves his job. He has improved tremendously. Once he thought he was the only man in the country who had seen Life stark naked, and he put on frills accordingly Now that he’s just one of a million who have been up against Life stripped to its skeleton, he’s a bit subdued.”
“I’m glad of that,” said Doggie.
The Dean, urbanely indulgent, joined his fingertips together and smiled. “Peggy is right,” said he, “although I don’t wholly approve of her modern lack of reticence in metaphor. Oliver is coming out true gold from the fire. He’s a capital fellow. And he spoke of you, my dear Marmaduke, in the kindest way in the world. He has a tremendous admiration for your pluck.”