“I wouldn’t say that. I’ve always noticed that when there’s a lot of them around it means changes.”

“Certainly be a change if I get a whisky.”

Mincing paid no attention to the interruption.

“Not good changes either. There was a lot about when Jennings’ mother was taken.”

“She’d been bed-ridden for years; it was a blessin’.”

“And they were about when Mr. Dick got orders to go abroad.”

“Well, he’s comin’ back all right. You’re a ghoul, Mincin’.”

“That’s as maybe, sir, but I can read a warning as well as the next, and I’m not risking seeing your coffin come in at the door.”

“Get along with you, coffin indeed!”

Mincing turned back to Donald.

“Two fingers, sir?”

“Three,” said the colonel. “He needs a drink.” He looked thoughtfully at Mincing’s retreating back. “She’s right, you know. Barbara laughs at us and says we imagine our spooks, as she calls them, but there are a lot around just now, and it does mean somethin’. Seem sensitive to change. Maybe it’s Dick comin’ home.” He sighed. “Well, if he and Barbara want to make a match of it, God bless ’em; but I shall miss her.”

Mincing brought out the whisky in a tumbler, and a siphon. She put them on the colonel’s table, but she put the glass within reach of Donald’s hand.

“I can trust you, sir.”

Donald nodded. He poured soda into his glass.

“You can. I want the drink too badly to give it away.”

The colonel watched him gloomily.

“Some people have all the luck. Now then, about this bit of bother of yours. Seems to me the only thing to do is to make a clean break.”

“I can’t. I’m a coward.”

“Rubbish! ’Course the best plan would be to get somebody to make her a temptin’ offer, that would save her face. Women like their faces saved. Lot of truth in that sayin’ about a woman scorned.”

“How can I get anyone to offer her a job?”

“Difficult. Pity we can’t get Barbara to help, but we can’t. Never talk about one woman to another, cad’s trick. They don’t mean to let the victim know they’ve heard anythin’, but they can’t help it. It’s all over their faces.” He sipped his milk. “Filthy stuff! I’ve got it! Old Poppy Broadstairs!”

“Mr. Broadstairs at the school?”

“That’s right. It’s just come to me that when he was in seein’ me last week he told me he was wantin’ a lady to run damn near everything in his school. Difficult for a headmaster of a big boys’ school when he’s a bachelor. Never the marryin’ sort. Married to cricket we always said. Beautiful wicket-keep.”

“But I hardly know him.”