Mufti by H.C. McNeile

It was the following morning that Vane received a second letter from Margaret. He had written her once -- a letter in which he had made no allusion to their last meeting -- and she had answered it. Cases were still pouring in and she was very busy. When she did have a moment to herself she was generally so tired that she lay down and went to sleep. It was the letter of a girl obsessed with her work to the exclusion of all outside things.

Of course he admired her for it -- admired her intensely. It was so characteristic of her, and she had such a wonderful character. But -- somehow. he had wished for something a little more basely material. And so with this second one. He read it through once at breakfast, and then, with a thoughtful look in his eyes, he took it with him to a chair on the big verandah which ran along the whole of the front of Rumfold Hall. The awning above it had been specially erected for the benefit of the patients and Vane pulled one of the lounge chairs back from the stone balustrade, so that his face was shaded from the sun. It was a favourite spot of his, and now, with Margaret's letter outspread beside him, and his pipe held between his knees, he commenced to fill the bowl. He was becoming fairly quick at the operation, but long after it was well alight he was still staring at the misty line of distant hills. Away, out there, beyond, the thing called war was in full swing -- the game was at its height. And the letter beside him had taken him back in spirit. After a while he picked it up again and commenced to re-read the firm, clear handwriting. .