They rose, they shouted, they went forward to drag Connie, blushing and protesting, into the room.
"Three cheers for Miss Constance Hammond! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! Three cheers for the land girls in khaki! Cheers for the girls who grow the spuds to beat the U Boats!"
The room rang with their cheering. Colonel Grainger stepped forward and introduced himself, shaking both Connie's red, trembling hands, and telling her how good her mother had been to his boys. Muriel, mystified, profoundly stirred by some strange premonition, stood silent while Connie shook hands with the colonel and kissed her father. Then she asked:
"Have you seen Mother?"
"Yes," said Connie, and no more, for Bobby made all the necessary explanations with delighted volubility.
"She was sneaking away upstairs because she didn't want to see us before she'd made herself look beautiful. She came from Market Burton on the 9.50 unexpectedly to give her family a surprise. I think that it was to see how they behaved while she was away. Aha, Miss Hammond, but now we've caught you, we'll keep you. You are conscripted as our drummer."
Muriel, from the piano, said:
"Connie, this is nice. How long have you?"
Then for the first time she saw Connie clearly through a crowd of chaffing, chattering boys. Connie's cheeks were flushed. She held her wild head high and recklessly, but her eyes were fierce with the desperation of a trapped animal.
"I don't know for certain," she said, in her high, shrill voice. "It depends on how you treat me." Then quickly she turned to the men. "What were you singing? Come on. Don't stop. Where's my drum?" She sprang on to the back of the sofa, and Bobby held the gong before her. "Go on. Play up, Muriel!"