Chapter 5

And still youth marched away, and England seemed to swarm with soldiers
and, at times, to hear and see nothing but marching music and marching
feet, though life went on in houses, shops, warehouses and offices, and
new and immense activities evolved as events demanded them. Many of the
new activities were preparations for the comfort and care of soldiers
who were going away, and for those who would come back and would need
more care than the others. Women were doing astonishing work and
revealing astonishing power and determination. The sexes mingled with a
businesslike informality unknown in times of peace. Lovely girls went in
and out of their homes, and from one quarter of London to another
without question. They walked with a brisk step and wore the steady
expression of creatures with work in view. Slim young war-widows were to
be seen in black dresses and veiled small hats with bits of white crape
inside their brims. Sometimes their little faces were awful to behold,
but sometimes they wore a strained look of exaltation.

The Dowager Duchess of Darte was often absent from Eaton Square. She was
understood to be proving herself much stronger than her friends had
supposed her to be. She proved it by doing an extraordinary amount of
work. She did it in her house in Eaton Square--in other people's houses,
in her various estates in the country, where she prepared her villagers
and tenants for a future in which every farm house and cottage must be
as ready for practical service as her own castle or manor house. Darte
Norham was no longer a luxurious place of residence but a potential
hospital for wounded soldiers; so was Barons Court and the beautiful old
Dower House at Malworth.

Sometimes Robin was with her, but oftener she remained at Eaton Square
and wrote letters and saw busy people and carried out lists of orders.

It was not every day or evening that she could easily find time to go
out alone and make her way to the Square Gardens and in fact it was not
often to the Gardens she went. There were so many dear places where
trees grew and made quiet retreats--all the parks and heaths and green
suburbs--and everywhere pairs walked or sat and talked, and were frankly
so wholly absorbed in the throb of their own existences that they had no
interest in, or curiosity concerning, any other human beings.

"Ought I to ask you to come and meet me--as if you were a little
housemaid meeting her life-guardsman?" Donal had said feverishly the
second time they met.

A sweet flush ran up to the roots of her hair and even showed itself on
the bit of round throat where her dress was open.

"Yes, you ought," she answered. "There are no little housemaids and
life-guardsmen now.