WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR
"Come in and have some tea," she said. "'Best thing in the world for heat-apoplexy."
"Do I look as if I were going to have heat-apoplexy?"
'"Never can tell," said William, wisely. "It 's always best to be ready."
She had arranged her compartment with the knowledge of an old campaigner. A felt-covered water-bottle hung in the draught of one of the shuttered windows; a tea-set of Russian china, packed in a wadded basket, stood on the seat; and a travelling spirit-lamp was clamped against the woodwork above it.
William served them generously, in large cups, hot tea, which saves the veins of the neck from swelling inopportunely on a hot night. It was characteristic of the girl that, her plan of action once settled, she asked for no comments on it. Life among men who had a great deal of work to do, and very little time to do it in, had taught her the wisdom of effacing, as well as of fending for, herself. She did not by word or deed suggest that she would be useful, comforting, or beautiful in their travels, but continued about her business serenely: put the cups back without clatter when tea was ended, and made cigarettes for her guests.
"This time last night," said Scott, "we did n't expect—er—his kind of thing, did we?"
"I 've learned to expect anything," said William. "You know, in our service, we live at the end of the telegraph; but, of course, this ought to be a good thing for us all, departmentally—if we live."
"It knocks us out of the running in our own Prov-
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