filled with hope and gladness, and with a humble pride because his efforts had borne fruit.
The scheme was simple. From his friends in the United States he had promises, as good as gold, of many millions of American dollars. From English friends he had also considerable sums. With this treasure he was going to Central Europe to organise relief on a big scale for the children who were starving to death. Eileen O'Connor was to be his private secretary and assistant-organiser. She would have heaps of work to do, and she had graduated in the prisons and slums of Lille. They were starting in a week's time for Warsaw, Prague, Buda-Pesth and Vienna.
"Then," said Brand, "Elsa will lose a friend."
"Bring her too," said Eileen. "There's work for all."
Brand was startled by this, and a sudden light leapt into his eyes.
"By Jove!. . . But I'm afraid not. That's impossible."
So it was only a week we had with Eileen, but in that time we had some good meetings and merry adventures. Brand and I rowed her on the lake in Kensington Gardens, and she told us Irish fairy-tales as she sat in the stern, with her hat in her lap, and the wind playing in her brown hair. We took her to the Russian Ballet and she wept a little at the beauty of it.
"After four years of war," she said, "beauty is like water to a parched soul. It is so exquisite it hurts."
She took us one day into the Carmelite church at Kensington, and Brand and I knelt each side of her, feeling sinners with a saint between us. And then, less like a saint, she sang ribald little songs on the way to her mother's house in Holland Street, and said, "Drat the thing!" when she couldn't find her key to unlock the door.
"Sorry, Biddy my dear," she said to the little maid-
