Hastily reviewing them, he decided that they had sounded too
familiar from a stranger and a younger man like himself. He supposed he
ought not to have spoken of Chev by his first name. Gee, what sticklers
they were! Wouldn't his family--dad and mother and Nancy--have fairly
lapped up any messages from him, even if they had been delivered a bit
awkwardly? However, he added, as a concession to their point of view,
"But of course, you'll have had later news of Captain Sherwood."
To which, after a pause, Lady Sherwood responded, "Oh, yes," in that
remote and colourless voice which might have meant anything or nothing.
At this point dinner was announced.
Lady Sherwood drew her husband away from the empty fireplace, and Gerald
slipped his arm through the Virginian's, saying pleasantly, "I'm
learning to carry on fairly well at St. Dunstan's, but I confess I still
like to have a pilot."
To look at the tall young fellow beside him, whose scarred face was so
reminiscent of Chev's untouched good looks, who had known all the
immense freedom of the air, but who was now learning to carry on in the
dark, moved Skipworth Cary to generous homage.
"You know my saying I'm glad to meet you isn't just American," he said
half shyly, but warmly. "It's plain English, and the straight truth.
I've wanted to meet you awfully. The oldsters are always holding up your
glorious exploits to us newcomers. Withers never gets tired telling
about that fight of yours with the four enemy planes.
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