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On and on went David’s voice; Concha, looking across from the billiard-table, whispered to Arnold, “No one talks so much really as a ‘strong, silent man.’”

“Yes; it was a queer time—the War. Things happened then that people had come to look upon as impossible—as old wives’ tales. But you’ll hardly meet a fellow who has been through the War who hasn’t either himself had some queer sort of experience, or else had a chum who has. It was a queer time ... there—there ... were things....”

“Be a sportsman—double the black!” shouted Rory from the billiard-table.

Teresa, sitting silent in her corner, found herself muttering:

Then old songs waken from enclouded tombs;

Old ditties sigh about their fathers’ graves;

Ghosts of melodious prophecyings rave

Round every spot where trod Apollo’s foot;

Bronze clarions awake, and faintly bruit,

Where long ago a giant battle was....

Jollypot looked up eagerly from her crochet and said:

“Oh, do tell us more about it, Mr. Munroe.”

“Oh, well, it’s only that at times like these ... things are more ... more naked, maybe,” and he laughed apologetically. Then he added, as if to himself, “One sees the star.”