“Dear Lucinda! How wonderful to see you!”

My mother was with her.

“Isn’t it a lovely surprise to see Robert?” she said.

I agreed that it was.

“I’m so glad you came here,” she added to Robert.

“Oh, I wanted to see you all.”

“And particularly his dear Lucinda,” added Annabelinda.

“Robert was just saying what he would like to do,” I said. “I told him he must make the decisions as it is his leave.”

“And only three days of it,” added my mother.

“Never mind,” said Robert. “I’ll make the most of it.”

We went into luncheon.

Annabelinda asked after Miss Carruthers and Andrée Latour.

“Miss Carruthers is a stickler for conventions,” explained my mother. “She dines with us on certain occasions, but I fancy she does so with a certain reluctance. She is very much aware of her place—and I really think prefers to eat alone. As for Andrée, she is in the nursery with Edward during the day, but very often dines with us.”

“And is it all working out well with this baby?” asked Aunt Belinda.

“Wonderfully. We wouldn’t be without him.”

“How cozy!” said Aunt Belinda. “But then you were always a cozy person, Lucie.”

“I’m not sure whether that is a compliment or not,” laughed my mother.

“Oh, it’s a compliment, Lucie dear. By the way, did you see any more of that nice Major Merrivale?”

Annabelinda was alert…watching me.

“No,” replied my mother. “Soldiers are kept very busy at a time like this.”

“What a pity. We missed him that time he came to dinner. I thought he was such a charming man.”

“Very charming,” said my mother.

“And of such a good family. This dreadful war…it just spoils everything.”

“It goes on and on,” said my mother. “And now we’ve declared war on Turkey. So…more trouble in that quarter. And wasn’t the sinking of the Good Hope and the Monmouth terrible?”

“I refuse to talk of these horrible things,” said Aunt Belinda. “I have had enough of it and so must you, Lucie. I expect Joel brings home all the horrible news, doesn’t he?”

“We don’t have to wait for that,” retorted my mother. “It’s in the papers.”

“My Robert is concerned about the land. Produce more and more crops. But as I said, enough! Are the shops still exciting? I don’t think we should neglect ourselves…just because there is a war on.”

My mother laughed at her, just as she must have laughed all through the years—and as I did with Annabelinda.

Then Robert told us some amusing stories about life on Salisbury Plain.

“You learn how to be Spartan and stoical,” he said. He imitated the sergeant major and told us some of the sarcastic remarks made about the pampered lives of the recruits before they had fallen into his hands: “You’re in the army now” and “Mummy’s not there to kiss her little darling and tuck him in at night.” Apparently there was one who took a sadistic delight in harassing any who showed signs of weakness.

He told us how one night they had all been celebrating in the local inn, and the sadistic riding instructor became so intoxicated that he did not know what was happening to him. Some of the recruits took him out onto the Plain, stripped him of his clothes, folded them up and put them beside him and left him.

“I have to report,” said Robert, “that the next morning he was at the stables, none the worse for his adventure, and he behaved as though nothing had happened, making no reference to the incident.”

“He deserved it,” said Aunt Belinda.

“Still, it showed he had some good in him, to accept the revenge of those he had humiliated,” said my mother.

“Trust Lucie to see good in everything!” retorted Aunt Belinda.

“Well, there is usually something good in everyone,” I said.

“I see you are bringing up your daughter to be like you, Lucie,” said Aunt Belinda.

“Which seems to be a very good idea,” added Robert. He went on. “At least the fellow was a good sport. We respected him more after that. He was ready to take what he gave. I suppose he looked upon it as rough justice.”

“Well, Annabelinda and I are not as nice as you and your daughter, Lucie,” said Aunt Belinda. “We would have gloated, wouldn’t we, darling? We would have left him without his clothes, too. Then you’d see whether he was back on duty, nobly ignoring the wrong done to him.”

“We don’t hate him all that much,” explained Robert. “He is a bit of a brute, but it couldn’t have been all that easy training a lot of raw recruits.”

“We must go to the theater while we are in town,” said Aunt Belinda, changing the subject.

Robert and I were together a good deal during those three days. We enjoyed walking about London. We were in complete harmony, liked the same things and were almost aware of what the other was thinking.

When we walked over Westminster Bridge, we would pause and look around us and think of days of our youth. We remembered that I had left my gloves on a seat in Green Park and we had gone back to look for them. He could recall, as I did, that immense joy and excitement when we found them on the seat, just where I had left them. We were both overawed as we passed the magnificent Houses of Parliament, with the river running past, and those great Gothic-style towers looking as though they had been there for centuries, though they were not yet a hundred years old. They represented something precious to us—home, our country, of which we had always been proud and grateful to be a part. Now that feeling was intensified. We were fighting to save ourselves from foreign domination; we were fighting so that little countries like Belgium should not be violently invaded without warning. And Robert was going into battle. I was both apprehensive for and proud of him.

All this we felt as we walked together. We often made our way to Green Park and looked at the ducks. We found the seat on which I had left my gloves. That made us laugh, and we began recalling more incidents from the past.

“It seems, Lucinda,” said Robert, “that our lives have always been entwined.”

“It is because of the friendship between our mothers.”

“You and Annabelinda are like sisters.”

“Yes. It has always been like that Although I have not seen much of her this visit.”

“I think they have conspired to leave us together.”

“Do you?”

“Oh, obviously. I’m not complaining.”

“Nor I. I think they have been busy shopping. They are always like that when they come to London.”

“They would like to have a place up here, but since your parents give us shelter, I suppose they think it is not essential. And my father is against it.”

“But I suppose he would give way.”

“I suppose so. This has been a wonderful leave.”

“I hope you are not going to mind going back to that awful riding instructor too much.”

“What I am going to mind is leaving you.”

“Oh, Robert…I do hate your going.”

He took my hand and pressed it. “Write to me, Lucinda.”

“Of course.”

“And tell me everything that’s happening.”

“I will…and you, too.”

“I expect our letters will be censored.”

“I don’t want to hear war news. I want to hear your news.”

He laughed. “There’ll be another leave and then I should get my commission.”

“And that could mean going right away.”

“I suppose so.”

“Perhaps it will be over by then.”

“Who knows? Lucinda, you seem quite a bit older these days. I mean, more than your years.”

“Do I? I think it must be because of what happened. That sort of thing jerks you out of your childhood.”

“Fifteen. Then you’ll be sixteen. Sixteen would be quite mature.”

“You make me feel like some old crone.”

“Oh, no. I just wish you were a little nearer to my age, that’s all.”

“If I had been, you might not have been the nice big brother to me that you have been all my life.”