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 eating, my dear,’ said Mr Whyte quietly, thrusting his hands into his pockets. ‘Perhaps this will satisfy the public appetite for some little time—say, until we can have the pleasure of a Battle of Queenstown fought in England itself. Meanwhile, we must see about your ticket. London, of course; where shall you stop?’

‘At the Great Western Hotel. I have been there before. I shall call on the Hawknorbuzzards to-morrow, and hear all about it, and what is to be done; then I can go home by an afternoon train—but where are Solicitude and Perdition?’

‘Solicitude and Perdition!’

‘My portmanteau and umbrella. Oh, all right, in that corner. I call the portmanteau Solicitude, because I am always in a fidget to see it is not left behind, and the umbrella Perdition, because it is always getting lost. Here comes the train.’

Mr Whyte laughed.

‘What trifles amuse us mortals at great crises!’

‘Yes, indeed, Mr Whyte, you may well say so; it is not with me that solicitude and perdition have most concern at this terrible time. I suppose there will be a vast subscription to do what money can do for the sufferers. I will send you a line by first post on getting home. Good-bye, and many thanks.’

Three days afterwards a post-card announced her safe arrival at Dulham.