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When Colonel Matthew Devon de Warrenne, V.C., D.S.O., of the Queen's Own Bombay Lancers, pinned his Victoria Cross to the bosom of his dying wife's night-dress he was not himself. He was beside himself with grief. Afterward, he adjured the sole witness of this impulsive and emotional act, Major John Decies, never to mention his "damned theatrical folly" to any living soul. For the one thing in heaven above that Colonel de Warrenne feared, was a breach of good form and stereotyped convention. And the one thing he loved was the dying woman. It was not as though he were clever and could hope for a great career and the power to offer her the position for which she was fitted. Why he was near the bottom of his year at Sandhurst--not a bit brilliant and brainy. Suppose she married him in her inexperience, and then met the right sort of intellectual, clever feller too late. No, it wouldn't be the straight thing and decent at all, to propose to her now. How would Grumper view such a step? What had he to offer her? What was he? Just a penniless orphan. Apart from Grumper's generosity he owned a single five-pound note in money.
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