Connie was glad to be home, to bury her head in the sand. She was glad even to babble to Clifford. For her fear of the mining and iron Midlands affected her with a queer feeling that went all over her, like influenza.

“Of course I had to have tea in Miss Bentley’s shop,” she said.

“Really! Winter would have given you tea.”

“Oh yes, but I daren’t disappoint Miss Bentley.”

Miss Bentley was a sallow old maid with a rather large nose and romantic disposition, who served tea with a careful intensity worthy of a sacrament.

“Did she ask after me?” said Clifford.

“Of course!⁠— May I ask your Ladyship how Sir Clifford is!⁠—I believe she ranks you even higher than Nurse Cavell!”

“And I suppose you said I was blooming.”