divine south front. The drawing struck me so that I got you up—in the books."
He appeared, however, rather comically, but half to make it out, or to gather at any rate that there was even more of it than he feared. "Are we in the books?"
"Did you never discover it?" Before his blankness, the dim apprehension in his fine amused and troubled face of how much there was of it, her frank, gay concern for him sprang again to the front. "Where in heaven's name, Captain Yule, have you come over from?"
He looked at her very kindly, but as if scarce expecting her to follow. "The East End of London."
She had followed perfectly, he saw the next instant, but she had by no means equally accepted. "What were you doing there?"
He could only put it, though a little over-consciously, very simply. "Working, you see. When I left the army—it was much too slow, unless one was personally a whirlwind of war—I began to make out that, for a fighting man———"
"There's always," she took him up, "somebody or other to go for?"
He considered her, while he smoked, with more
