"And now, farewell, Mr. ” “You are jealous,” she declared contemptuously. ‘You have no idea how dull the militia is compared to the Army. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. The funeral, it has just been said, took place on that day. My mind is full of ideas and images that I have been cherishing and accumulating—dreams of travelling side by side, of lunching quietly together in some jolly restaurant, of moonlight and music and all that side of life, of seeing you dressed like a queen and shining in some brilliant throng—mine; of your looking at flowers in some old-world garden, our garden—there are splendid places to be got down in Surrey, and a little runabout motor is quite within my means.
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