In fact, Marigold mentioned her notorious vanity.
"What does it matter," cried Betty, when I put this view before her, "how swelled her head may be, so long as it isn't swollen with drink ?" And I could find no adequate reply.
Towards the end of the month comes Boyce to Wellingsford, this time not secretly; for the day after his arrival he drove his mother through the town and incidentally called on me.

A neglected bullet graze on the neck had turned septic.

An ugly temperature had sent him to hospital.
The authorities, as soon as the fever had abated and left him on the high road to recovery, had sent him home.

A khaki bandage around his bull-throat alone betokened anything amiss.

He would be back, he said, as soon as the Medical Board at the War Office would let him.
On this occasion, for the first time since South African days, I met him without any mistrust.