"My young cousin, the object of our search."
"Did she run away?" asked the admirer, in a voice strangled with excitement.
To admit that a young relation of Anonyma's should run away from her would be undignified.
"You mustn't take us too seriously," said Mrs. Gustus lightly. "It isn't a case of an elopement, or anything like that. Just an excuse for a tour, and a rest from wearisome war work. A wild-goose chase, nothing but fun in it."
"Wild goose is a good description of Jay," said Cousin Gustus. It was rather.
Next morning the admirer, twittering with excitement, came in upon the Family while it was having its breakfast.
"Oh, I had such an idea in the night," she said. "I couldn't sleep, of course, after such an exciting day. I believe I have been fated to help you in your quest. I know of a house near here, and the more I think of it the more sure I feel that it is the place you want."
"A young man with his mother. I forget the name."
"Place we want's west," objected Mr. Russell.
"You never can tell," said Anonyma. "This place may stand on a salient, facing west. Our search must be thorough."
"It's such a lovely walk," said the admirer. "I should be so much honoured if you would let me show you the way. Oh, I say, do you think me very presumptuous?"
Her self-consciousness took the form of a constant repentance. In the night she would go over her day and probe it for tender points. "Oh, that was a dreadful thing to say," was a refrain that would keep her awake for hours, wriggling and giggling in her bed over the dreadfulness of it. She had too little egoism. The lack gave her face a look of littleness. A lack of altruism has the same outward effect. A complete face should be full of something, of gentleness, of vigour, of humour, of wickedness. The admirer's face was only half full of anything. All the same there was charm about her, the fact that she was an admirer was charming. Mrs. Gustus reassured her.
"We should be even more grateful for an excuse to call on this inoffensive young man and his mother at eleven o'clock in the morning," objected Kew.
"He ought to be at the Front," was the excuse provided by Cousin Gustus.
"Oh, but you're a wounded, aren't you?" asked the admirer. There were signs of a possible transfer of admiration, and Mrs. Gustus interposed with presence of mind.