'We are only now just finding out our deficiencies.' Nelly sighed.
'I know--it's _awful_ how we want guns and shells! My husband says it makes him savage to see how we lose men for want of them.

_Why_ are we so short?
Whose fault is it ?' A spot of angry colour had risen in her cheek.

It was the dove defending her mate.

The change was lovely, and Farrell, with his artist's eye, watched it eagerly.

But he shook his head.
'It's nobody's fault.