The Kingdom of the Blind | Page 7

the noise of the
falling cups and the sharp, half-stifled groan which broke from the
man's lips. Captain Granet sprang to his feet.
"Good heavens! The fellow's in a fit!" he exclaimed.
The maitre d'hotel and several waiters came hurrying up towards the
prostrate figure, by the side of which Major Thomson was already
kneeling. The manager, who appeared upon the scene as though by
magic, and upon whose face was an expression of horror that his clients

should have been so disturbed, quickly gave his orders. The man was
picked up and carried away. Major Thomson followed behind. Two or
three waiters in a few seconds succeeded in removing the debris of the
accident, the orchestra commenced a favourite waltz. The maitre
d'hotel apologised to the little groups of people for the commotion-they
were perhaps to blame for having employed a young man so delicate-he
was scarcely fit for service.
"He seemed to be a foreigner," Lady Anselman remarked, as the man
addressed his explanations to her.
"He was a Belgian, madam. He was seriously wounded at the
commencement of the war. We took him direct from the hospital."
"I hope the poor fellow will soon recover," Lady Anselman declared.
"Please do not think anything more of the affair so far as we are
concerned. You must let me know later on how he is."
The maitre d'hotel retreated with a little bow. Geraldine turned to
Captain Granet.
"I think," she said, "that you must be very kind-hearted, for a soldier."
He turned and looked at her.
"Why?"
"You must have been so many horrible sights--so many dead people,
and yet--"
"Well?" he persisted.
"There was something in your face when the man staggered back, a
kind of horror almost. I am sure you felt it quite as much as any of us."
He was silent for a moment.
"In a battlefield," he observed slowly, "one naturally becomes a little
callous, but here it is different. The fellow did look ghastly ill, didn't he?

I wonder what was really the matter with him."
"We shall know when Major Thomson returns," she said.
Granet seemed scarcely to hear her words. A curious fit of abstraction
had seized him. His head was turned towards the corridor, he seemed to
be waiting.
"Queer sort of stick, Thomson," he remarked presently. "Is he a great
friend of yours, Miss Conyers?"
She hesitated for a moment.
"I have known him for some time."
Something in her tone seemed to disturb him. He leaned towards her
quickly. His face had lost its good-humoured indifference. He was
evidently very much in earnest.
"Please don't think me impertinent," he begged, "but--is he a very great
friend?"
She did not answer. She was looking over his shoulder towards where
Major Thomson, who had just returned, was answering a little stream
of questions.
"The man is in a shockingly weak state," he announced. "He is a
Belgian, has been wounded and evidently subjected to great privations.
His heart is very much weakened. He had a bad fainting fit, but with a
long rest he may recover."
The little party broke up once more into groups. Granet, who had
drawn for a moment apart and seemed to be adjusting the knots of his
sling, turned to Thomson.
"Has he recovered consciousness yet?" he asked.
"Barely," was the terse reply.

"There was no special cause for his going off like that, I suppose?"
Surgeon-Major Thomson's silence was scarcely a hesitation. He was
standing perfectly still, his eyes fixed upon the young soldier.
"At present," he said, "I am not quite clear about that. If you are ready,
Geraldine?"
She nodded and they made their farewells to Lady Anselman. Granet
looked after them with a slight frown. He drew his aunt on one side for
a moment.
"Why is Miss Conyers here without a chaperon?" he asked. "And why
did she go away with Thomson?"
Lady Anselman laughed.
"Didn't she tell you?"
"Tell me what?" he insisted eagerly.
Lady Anselman looked at her nephew curiously.
"Evidently," she remarked, "your progress with the young lady was not
so rapid as it seemed, or she would have told you her secret--which,
by-the-bye, isn't a secret at all. She and Major Thomson are engaged to
be married."
CHAPTER III
A few rays of fugitive sunshine were brightening Piccadilly when
Geraldine and her escort left the Ritz. The momentary depression
occasioned by the dramatic little episode of a few minutes ago, seemed
already to have passed from the girl's manner. She walked on,
humming to herself. As they paused to cross the road, she glanced as
though involuntarily at her companion. His dark morning clothes and
rather abstracted air created an atmosphere of sombreness about him of
which she was suddenly conscious.

"Hugh, why don't you wear uniform in town?"