The great central ward at N Base Hospital looked as gay as possible. In the centre a Guard’s band sat among palms and ferns, and an extemporised stage, draped with flags, was behind, with wings constructed of Japanese-figured material. Pretty well all round were the beds, although many of them had been moved up into a central position, and there was a space for chairs and forms. The green-room had to be outside the ward, and the performers, therefore, came and went in the public gaze. But it was not a critical public, and the men, with a plenitude of cigarettes, did not object to pauses. On the whole, they were extraordinarily quiet and passive. Modern science has made the battlefield a hell, but it has also made the base hospital something approaching a Paradise.

There were women in plenty. The staff had been augmented by visitors from most of the other hospitals in the town, and there was a fair sprinkling of W.A.A.C.’s, Y.M.C.A. workers, and so on, in addition. Jack Donovan and Peter were a little late, and arrived at the time an exceedingly popular subaltern was holding the stage amid roars of laughter. They stood outside one of the many glass doors and peered in.

Once inside, one had to make one’s way among beds and chairs, and the nature of things brought one into rather more than the usual share of late-comers’ scrutiny, but nothing could abash Donovan. He spotted at once a handsome woman in nurse’s indoor staff uniform, and made for her. She, with two others, was sitting on an empty bed, and she promptly made room for Donovan. Graham was introduced, and a quiet girl moved up a bit for him to sit down; but there was not much room, and the girl would not talk, so that he sat uncomfortably and looked about him, listening with one ear to the fire of chaff on his right. Donovan was irrepressible. His laugh and voice, and the fact that he was talking to a hospital personage, attracted a certain amount of attention. Peter tried to smile, but he felt out of it and observed. He stared up towards the band, which was just striking up again.

Suddenly he became conscious, as one will, that someone was particularly looking at him. He glanced back over the chairs, and met a pair of eyes, roguish, laughing, and unquestionably fixed upon him. The moment he saw them, their owner nodded and telegraphed an obvious invitation. Peter glanced at Donovan: he had not apparently seen. He looked back; the eyes called him again. He felt himself getting hot, for, despite the fact that he had a kind of feeling that he had seen those eyes before, he was perfectly certain he did not know the girl. Perhaps she had made a mistake. He turned resolutely to his companion.

“Jolly good band, isn’t it?” he said.

“Yes,” she replied.

“But I suppose at a hospital like this you’re always hearing decent music?” he ventured.

“Not so often,” she said.

“This band is just back from touring the front, isn’t it? My friend said something to that effect.”

“I believe so,” she said.

Peter could have cursed her. It was impossible to get anything out of her, though why he had not a notion. The answer was really simple, for she wanted to be next Donovan, and wasn’t, and she was all the while scheming how to get there. But Peter did not tumble to that; he felt an ass and very uncomfortable, and he broke into open revolt.

He looked steadily towards the chairs. The back of the girl who had looked at him was towards him now, for she was talking sideways to somebody; but he noted an empty chair just next her, and that her uniform was not that of the nurses of this hospital. He felt confident that she would look again, and he was not disappointed. Instantly he made up his mind, nodded, and reached for his cap. “I see a girl I know over there,” he said to his neighbour. “Excuse me, will you?” Then he got up and walked boldly over to the vacant chair. He was fast acclimatising to war conditions.

He sat down on that empty chair and met the girl’s eyes fairly. She was entirely at her ease and laughing merrily. “I’ve lost my bet,” she said, “and Tommy’s won.”

“And you’ve made me tell a thundering lie,” he replied, laughing too, “which you know is the first step towards losing one’s soul. Therefore you deserve your share in the loss.”

“Why? What did you say?” she demanded.

“I said I saw a girl I knew,” he replied. “But I haven’t any idea who you are, though I can’t help feeling I’ve seen you before.”

She chuckled with amusement, and turned to her companion. “He doesn’t remember, Tommy,” she said.

The second girl looked past her to Peter. “I should think not,” she said. “Nobody would. But he’ll probably say in two minutes that he does. You’re perfectly shameless, Julie.”

Julie swung round to Peter. “You’re a beast, Tommy,” she said over her shoulder, “and I shan’t speak to you again. You see,” she went on to Peter, “I could see you had struck a footling girl, and as I don’t know a single decent boy here, I thought I’d presume on an acquaintance, and see if it wasn’t a lucky one. We’ve got to know each other, you know. The girl with me on the boat oh, damn, I’ve told you! and I am swearing, and you’re a parson, but it can’t be helped now well, the girl told me we should meet again, and that it was probably you who was mixed up with my fate-line. What do you think of that?”

Peter had not an idea, really. He was going through the most amazing set of sensations. He felt heavy and dull, and as if he were utterly at a loss how to deal with a female of so obviously and totally different a kind from any he had met before; but, with it all, he was very conscious of being glad to be there. Underneath everything, too, he felt a bit of a dare-devil, which was a delightful experience for a London curate; and still deeper, much more mysteriously and almost a little terrifyingly, something stranger still, that he had known this girl for ages, although he had not seen her for a long time. “I’m highly privileged, I’m sure,” he said, and could have kicked himself for a stupid ass.

“Oh Lord!” said Julie, with a mock expression of horror; “for goodness’ sake don’t talk like that. That’s the worst of a parson: he can’t forget the drawing-room. At any rate, I’m not sure that I’m highly fortunate, but I thought I ought to give Fate a chance. Do you smoke?”

“Yes,” said Peter wonderingly.

“Then for goodness’ sake smoke, and you’ll feel better. No, I daren’t here, but I’m glad you are educated enough to ask me. Nurses aren’t supposed to smoke in public, you know, and I take it that even you have observed that I’m a nurse.”

She was quite right. Peter drew on his cigarette and felt more at ease. “Well, to be absolutely honest, I had,” he said. “And I observe, moreover, that you are not wearing exactly an English nurse’s uniform, and that you have what I might venture to call a zoological badge. I therefore conclude that, like my friend Donovan, you hail from South Africa. What hospital are you in?”

“Quai de France,” she said. “Know it?”

Peter repressed a start. “Quai de France?” he queried. “Where’s that, now?”

At this moment a song started, but his companion dropped her voice to stage whisper and replied: “End of the harbour, near where the leave-boat starts. Know it now?”

He nodded, but was saved a reply.

She looked away toward the platform, and he studied her face surreptitiously. It seemed very young till you looked closely, especially at the eyes, and then you perceived something lurking there. She was twenty-seven or twenty-eight, he concluded. She looked as if she knew the world inside out, and as if there were something hidden below the gaiety. Peter felt curiously and intensely attracted. His shyness vanished. He had, and had had, no intimations of the doings of Providence, and nobody could possibly be more sceptical of fate-lines than he, but it dawned on him as he stared at her that he would fathom that look somehow, somewhere.

“I’m practically not made up at all,” she whispered, without turning her head, “so for Heaven’s sake don’t say there’s too much powder on my nose.”

Peter shook silently. “No, but a faint trace on the right cheek,” he whispered back. She turned then and looked at him, and her eyes challenged his. And yet it is to be supposed that Hilda knew nothing whatever about it.

“‘Right on my mother’s knee....’” sang the platform.

“‘Without a shirt, without a shirt,’” gagged Peter, sotto voce, and marvelled at himself. But he felt that her smothered laughter amply rewarded him.

The song ceased in time, and the encore, which they both rigorously demanded. And immediately she began again.

“I hope to goodness tea isn’t far off,” she said. “By the way, you’ll have to take me to it, now, you know. We go out of that door, and up a flight of steps, and there’s the matron’s room on the top and a visitor’s room next to it, and tea’ll be there. It will be a fiendish squash, and I wouldn’t go if I hadn’t you to get me tea and take me away afterwards as soon as possible.”

“I’m highly privileged, I’m sure,” said Peter again, quite deliberately. She laughed. “You are,” she said. “Look how you’re coming on! Ten minutes ago you were a bored curate, and now you’re what are you?”

Peter hesitated perceptibly. He felt he might say many things. Then he said “A trapped padre,” and they both laughed.

“Thank goodness you’re not sentimental, anyway,” she said. “Nor’s your friend; but the matron is. I know her sort. Look at them.”

Peter looked. Donovan appeared still entirely at his ease, but he was watching Peter, who realised why he had been made to look. He brazened it out, smiled back at him, and turned perfectly deliberately to his companion.

“Julie,” he said, “don’t look over there any more, for goodness’ sake, or we’ll have Donovan here. And if he comes he’ll sail in and take you to tea without a word. I know him. He’s got an unfair advantage over me. I’m just waking up, and he’s been awake for years. Please give me a chance.”

She leaned, back and regarded him humorously. “You’re not doing so badly,” she said, “I don’t know that a man has ever called me ‘Julie’ before in the first quarter of an hour. Do you know that, Solomon?”

“It’s your fault, I’ve never been introduced, and I must call you something, so why not the name your friend called you? Julie’s very pretty and suits you. Somehow I couldn’t call you ‘Miss’ anything, though it may be convenient to know the rest. Do you think you could call me the Rev. Peter Graham?”

“I couldn’t,” she confessed, slightly more solemnly. “Queer, isn’t it? But don’t, talk about it: it isn’t lucky. I shall call you Solomon for ever now. And you can only call me Miss Gamelyn when you’ve got to. See?”

“But why in the world ‘Solomon’? It doesn’t fit me a bit.”

“Oh,” she said, “it does, but don’t worry why. Perhaps because, as the old man said to the vicar when he heard of Solomon’s wives, you are a highly privileged Christian. You can’t deny that, since you’ve said it twice. Praises be, here is tea. Come on; come on, Tommy. Oh, Tommy, this is the Very Reverend Peter Graham. Mr. Graham, this is one Raynard, commonly known as Tommy, my half-section, so try to be polite.”

There was a general movement, and Peter shook hands as he got up. The other girl struck him at once as a good sort.

“You’re booked to take us to tea, I suppose?” she said. “Julie’s far more practical than you’d imagine, padre.”

They left the row of chairs together, Julie well in front and apparently forgetful of their existence. As they came abreast of the empty bed, Peter noticed that the assistant matron had gone, and that Donovan was drifting in the stream alongside her in front. But before they were out of the great ward, Julie and he were laughing together. Peter felt absurdly hurt, and hated himself for feeling it. The other girl was talking at his elbow, but he made ridiculous and commonplace replies and hardly noticed her. She broke off at last abruptly, and he roused himself to carry on. He caught her expression, and somehow or other it landed him deeper in the business. He made a deliberate move.

“Where are you going after this?” he asked.

“Down town to do some shopping; then I suppose home, unless a fit seizes Julie and we run a risk once more of being summarily repatriated.”

He laughed. “Does that often happen?”

“Quite often. You see ours is an English hospital, though we are South Africans attached to it. I think they’re much more strict than Colonial hospitals. But they give us more latitude than the rest, at any rate. Julie had a fearful row once, and simply declared she would do some things, and since then they turn a blind eye occasionally. But there are limits, and one day she’ll step over them I know she will.”

“Let’s hope not,” said Peter; “but now let me get you some tea.”

The little room was packed, but Peter got through somehow and made his way to a series of tables spread with cakes and sandwiches. He got a cup and seized a plate, and shouldered his way back. In the crush he saw only the top of Miss Raynard’s head, and made for that. “Here you are,” he said cheerfully, as he emerged. “Have a sandwich?”

“Thanks,” she said as she took it; “but why didn’t you bring two cups?”

“Why?” he asked.

She nodded towards a corner and there was Julie, wedged in between people, and refusing tea from a subaltern. “She expects you to bring it,” said Miss Raynard.

Peter looked puzzled, “Where’s Donovan?” he said. “I thought she came in with him.”

The girl smiled. “She did, but she arranged for you to bring her tea, whoever Donovan is, and she’ll wait for it. She’s that sort. Besides, if Donovan was that officer with the matron, he’s probably got other fish to fry.”

Peter waited for no more, but plunged into the press again. As he emerged, he crossed the track of his friend, who was steering about with cakes. “Hullo, padre,” that individual said; “you’re a smart one, you are. Let’s take those girls out to dinner. They’ll come all right.”

Peter mumbled something, and went on with his tea towards the corner. The other’s readiness and effrontery staggered him, but he wasn’t going to give himself away.

“You’re a brute!” said Julie promptly. “Where have you been?”

“It’s where have you been, you mean,” retorted Peter. “I thought I was to take you in to tea. When last I saw you, you had Donovan in tow.”

“And you had Tommy. Don’t you like her?”

“Awfully,” said Peter; “I think she wants something now. But do come across to our side. Aren’t you going soon?”

“Yes, when we can get away. Remember, everyone is watching. You go on out, and we can meet you below.”

“Right,” said Peter; “I’ll collect Donovan.”

He found him after a bit, and the two made their adieus and thanks.

As they went down the steps, Jack outlined the campaign. “I just joked to her about dinner,” he said, “but I think they’ll rise. If they do, we’ll go to Travalini’s, if they dare. That girl of yours is up to anything: she knows a thing or two. You’ve some nerve, old thing.”

“Nothing to yours,” retorted Graham, still not at all sure of himself. “But, look here, what about Travalini’s? I don’t know that I care to go there.”

“Oh, it’s all right, old dear. You haven’t a vast collar on now, and you ought to see life. I’ve seen scores of chaplains there, even old Arnold. I’ll look after your morals. Come on; let’s get out and across the road. We shall see them coming down the steps.”

The hospital fronted on to the sea and the promenade that once was so fashionable. The sun was setting, blood red, over the Channel, the ships at anchor looking dark by contrast. But there was still plenty of light, and Peter was inwardly conscious of his badges. Still, he told himself that he was an ass, and the two of them sauntered slowly townwards.

In a few minutes Jack glanced back. “They’re coming,” he said, and as the girls crossed on to the pavement behind them, turned round. “Good for you,” he said. “You got out quicker than I thought you would. Shall we tram or walk?”

“Walk, I think,” said Julie; “it’s topping here by the sea. I want to get a pair of shoes, and the shop’s not too far. Besides, you can buy shoes by artificial light, which won’t do for some things. Tommy bought a hat the other night, and she nearly had a fit in the morning. She’s keeping it for the next fancy-dress stunt.”

She ran on, and, despite Peter, Donovan annexed her. They set off gaily ahead, Julie’s clear laugh coming back now and again. Peter felt depressed and angry. He told himself he was being let in for something he did not want, and he had not much to say. To make conversation, he asked about South Africa.

It appeared the girls came from Natal. Miss Raynard was enthusiastic, and he gathered they had been trained together in Pietermaritzburg, but lived somewhere on the coast, where there was tennis all the year and moonlight bathing picnics in the season, and excellent river boating. He could not catch the name, but it was not too far from Durban. He said, in the end, that he had always wanted to visit South Africa, and should certainly come to Natal....

They turned off the promenade into a boulevard lined with the usual avenue of trees. It was dusk now, and looked darker by contrast with the street lamps. Small tram-cars rushed by now and again, with clanging bells and platforms crowded before and behind, and there were plenty of people in the street, Julie turned abruptly.

“I say, Tommy,” she said, “Captain Donovan wants us to go out to dinner. What do you say? My shoes can wait, and we needn’t be in till eight-thirty. It’s not more than six now. It will be a spree.”

“I’m game; but where are we going?”

“I suggest Travalini’s, padre,” said Donovan.

“Not for me;” said Miss Raynard; “it’s too public and you seem to forget, Captain’ Donovan, that we are forbidden to dine with officers.”

“Nobody is likely to give us away, Tommy,” said Miss Gamelyn.

“I’m not going to take the risk in uniform. Let’s go to a quiet hotel, or else to some very French place. That would be fun.”

“A jolly good idea,” cried Donovan, “and I know what will just fix us up. Come on.”

Tommy smiled. “Probably it will fix us up. Tell us about it first.”

“It’s absolutely safe,” Donovan protested. “It’s quite French, and we shall get one knife and fork each. There’s a cinema on top, and billiards underneath, and practically no officers go. A Belgian Captain I came out with took me. He said you could ‘eat well’ there, and you can, for the cooking is a treat. I swear it’s all right.”

“Lead on,” said Julie; “we’ll trust you,” and she manoeuvred so that her half-section was left with Donovan.

The four walked briskly through the dusk. “Don’t you love France in the evening?” demanded Julie.

“Yes,” said Peter, but dubiously. “I don’t know it much yet,” he added.

“Oh, I do. Even a girl can almost do what she likes out here. I’ve had some awful fun in Havre. I think one ought to take one’s pleasure when one has the chance, don’t you? But some of these girls give me the hump; they’re so narrow. They can’t see you with a man without imagining all sorts of things, whereas I’ve had some rattling good pals among men out here. Then they’re so afraid of doing things the girls, I mean. Do you know I went to Paris when I came up here from Boulogne? Had absolutely the time. Of course, nobody knows, so don’t speak of it except Tommy, of course.”

“How did you do it?” demanded Peter, amused.

“Well, you see, I and another girl, English, were sent over by Boulogne, as you know, because you saw us on the boat, and we were supposed to come straight here. In the train we met a Canadian in the French Air Service, and he put us wise about changing, and so on. But it appeared you have to change at Amiens in the middle of the night, and he said the thing was to sleep in the train and go right on to Paris. Then you got twenty-four hours there, and left next day by the Havre express. The girl was horribly scared, but I said we’d try it. Nothing happened at all. We had a carriage to ourselves, and merely sat still at Amiens. When we got to Paris we simply walked out, bold as brass. I showed our tickets at Havre and told the French inspector we had overslept. He merely told us the time to leave next day. We went to an hotel, and then strolled up the Avenue d l’Opera. And what do you think? Who should I see but an old dear of a General I knew out in South Africa who is in the French Red Cross. He was simply delighted to see us. He motored us out to the Bois in the afternoon, dined us, and took us to the theatre only, by Jove! I did curse that other girl. She was in a ferment all the time. Next morning he had a job on, but he sent a car for us with a subaltern to put us on the train, and we went to the R.T.O. this time. He couldn’t do enough for us when he heard the name of General de Villiers and saw his card. We got into Havre at midday, and nobody was a penny the wiser.”

Peter laughed. “You were lucky,” he said; “perhaps you always are.”

“No, I’m not,” she said “but I usually do what I want and get through with it. Hullo, is this the place?”

“I suppose so,” said Peter. “Now for it. Look as if you’d been going to such places all your life.”

“I’ve probably been more often than you, anyhow, Solomon,” said Julie, and she ran lightly up the steps.

They passed through swing-doors into a larger hall brilliantly lit and heavy with a mixed aroma of smoke and food. There was a sort of hum of sound going on all the time and Peter looked round wonderingly. He perceived immediately that there was an atmosphere about this French restaurant unlike that of any he had been in before. He was, in truth, utterly bewildered by what he saw, but he made an effort not to show it. Julie, on the other hand, was fairly carried away. They seated themselves at a table for four near the end of the partition, and she led the party in gaiety. Donovan hardly took his eyes off her, and cut in with dry, daring remarks with a natural case. Tommy played a good second to Julie, and if she had had any fears they were not visible now.

“What about an appetiser?” demanded Donovan.

“Oh, rather! Mixed vermuth for me; but Tommy must have a very small one: she gets drunk on nothing. Give me a cigarette now, padre; I’m dying to smoke.”

Peter produced his case. “Don’t call him ‘padre’ here,” said Donovan; “you’ll spoil his enjoyment.”

“A cigarette, Solomon, then,” whispered Julie, as the other turned to beckon a garcon, flashing her eyes on him.

Peter resisted no longer. “Don’t,” he said. “Call me anything but that.” It seemed to him that there was something inevitable in it all. He did not formulate his sensations, but it was the lure of the contrast that won him. Ever since he had landed in France he had, as it were, hung on to the old conventional position, and he had felt increasingly that it was impossible to do so. True, there seemed little connection between a dinner with a couple of madcap girls in a French restaurant and religion, but there was one. He had felt out of touch with men and life, and now a new phase of it was offered him. He reached out for it eagerly.

Julie leaned back and blew out a thin stream of smoke, her eyes daring him, picking up the little glass as she did so.

"Here’s to the girl with the little grey shoes," she chanted merrily.

“Don’t Julie, for Heaven’s sake!” pleaded Tommy. “He’ll be shocked.”

“Oh, go on,” said Peter; “what is it?”

“Captain Donovan will finish,” laughed Julie.

“’Deed I can’t, for I don’t know it,” he said. “Let’s have it, little girl; I’m sure it’s a sporting toast.”

“Who eats your grub and drinks your booze,” continued she.

“Shut up, Julie,” said Tommy, leaning over as if to snatch her glass.

“And then goes home to her mother to snooze,” called Julie breathlessly, leaning back.

“I don’t think,” ejaculated Donovan.

Julie tipped down the drink. “You knew it all the time,” she said. And they all burst out laughing.

Peter drank, and called for another, his eyes on Julie. He knew that he could not sum her up, but he refused to believe that this was the secret behind the eyes. She was too gay, too insolent. What Donovan thought he could not say, but he almost hated him for the ease with which he kept pace with their companions.

They ordered dinner, and the great dish of hors d’oeuvres was brought round by a waiter who seemed to preside over it with a fatherly solicitude. Julie picked up an olive in her fingers, and found it so good that she grumbled at only having taken one.

“Have mine,” said Donovan, shooting one on to her plate.

“Thanks,” she said. “Oh, heavens! I forgot that patch on my left cheek or was it my right, Solomon? Let’s see.”

She dived into her pocket, and produced a tiny satin beaded box, “Isn’t it chic?” she demanded, leaning over to show Donovan. “I got it in the Nouvelles Galleries the other day.” She took off the lid, which revealed its reverse as a tiny mirror, and scrutinised herself, patting back a stray lock on her forehead.

“Oh, don’t,” said Donovan, and he slipped the hair out again with his finger.

“Be quiet; but I’ll concede that. This won’t do, though.” Out came a tiny powder-puff. “How’s that?” she demanded, smiling up at him.

“Perfect,” he said. “But it’s not fair to do that here.”

“Wait for the taxi then,” she said. “Besides, it won’t matter so much then.”

“What won’t matter?” demanded Peter.

“Solomon, dear, you’re as innocent as a new-born babe. Isn’t he?” she demanded of his friend.

Donovan looked across at him. “Still waters run deep,” he said. “I don’t know, but excuse me!”

He had been sitting next Julie and opposite Miss Raynard, but he was now on his feet and begging her to change places with him. She consented, laughing, and did so, but Julie pretended to be furious.

“I won’t have it. You’re a perfect beast, Tommy. Captain Donovan, I’ll never come out with you again. Solomon, come and sit here, and you, Tommy, go over there.”

Peter hadn’t an idea why, but he too got up. Tommy protested. “Look here,” she said, “I came for dinner, not for a dance. Oh, look out, Captain Graham; you’ll upset the cutlets!” Peter avoided the waiter by an effort, but came on round her to the other side.

“Get out of it, Tommy,” said Julie, leaning over and pushing her. “I will have a man beside me, anyhow.”

“I’d sooner be opposite,” said Donovan. “I can see you better, and you can’t make eyes at the Frenchman at the other table quite so well if I get my head in the way.”

“Oh, but he’s such a dear,” said Julie. “I’d love to flirt with him. Only I must say his hair is a bit greasy.”

“You’ll make his lady furious if you don’t take care,” said Donovan, “and it’s a shame to spoil her trade.”

Peter glanced across. A French officer, sitting opposite a painted girl, was smiling at them. He looked at Julie; she was smiling back.

“Julie, don’t for Heaven’s sake,” said her half-section. “We shall have him over here next, and you remember once before how awkward it was.”

Julie laughed. “Give me another drink, then, Captain Donovan,” she said, “and I’ll be good.”

Donovan filled up her glass. She raised it and challenged him. “Here’s to we two in Blighty,” she began.

Miss Raynard rose determinedly and interrupted her. “Come on,” she said; “that’s a bit too much, Julie. We must go, or we’ll never get back, and don’t forget you’ve got to go on duty in the morning, my dear.” She pulled out a little watch. “Good heavens!” she cried. “Do you know the time? It’s eight-twenty now. We ought to have been in by eight, and eighty-thirty is the latest time that’s safe. For any sake, come on.”

Julie for once agreed. “Good Lord, yes,” she said. “We must have a taxi. Can we get one easily?”

“Oh, I expect so,” said Donovan. “Settle up, Graham, will you? while I shepherd them out and get a car. Come on, and take care how you pass the Frenchman.”

In a few minutes Peter joined them on the steps outside. The restaurant was in the corner of a square which contained a small public garden, and the three of them were waiting for him on the curb. A taxi stood by them. The broad streets ran away to left and right, gay with lights and passers-by, and the dark trees stood out against a starry sky. A group of British officers went laughing by, and one of them recognised Donovan and hailed him. Two spahis crossed out of the shade into the light, their red and gold a picturesque splash of colour. Behind them glared the staring pictures of the cinema show on a great hoarding by the wall.

“Come on, Graham,” called Donovan, “hop in.”

The four packed in closely, Peter and Tommy opposite the other two, Julie farthest from Peter. They started, and he caught her profile as the street lights shone in and out with the speed of their passing. She was smoking, puffing quickly at her cigarette, and hardly silent a moment.

“It’s been a perfect treat,” she said. “You’re both dears, aren’t they, Tommy? You must come and have tea at the hospital any day: just walk in. Mine’s Ward 3. Come about four o’clock, and you’ll find me any day this week, Tommy’s opposite. There’s usually a crush at tea, but you must come. By the way, where’s your camp? Aren’t you going heaps out of your way? Solomon, where do you live? Tell me.”

Peter grinned in the dark, and told her.

“Oh, you perfect beast!” she said, “Then you knew the Quai de France all the time. Well, you’re jolly near, anyway.” “Oh, Lord!” she exclaimed suddenly, “you aren’t the new padre?”

“I am,” said Peter.

“Good Lord! what a spree! Then you’ll come in on duty. You can come in any hour of the day or night. Tommy, do you hear that? Solomon’s our spiritual pastor. He’s begun well, hasn’t he?”

Peter was silent. It jarred him horribly. But just then the car slowed down.

“What’s up now?” demanded Donovan.

“Only the sentry at the swing bridge,” said Tommy. “They stop all cars at night. He’s your side, dear; give him the glad eye.”

The door opened, and a red-cap looked in. “Hospital, corporal; it’s all right,” said Julie, beaming at him.

“Oh, all right, miss. Good-night,” said the man, stepping back and saluting in the light of the big electric standard at the bridgehead. “Carry on, driver!”

“We’re just there,” said Julie; “I am sorry. It’s been rippin’. Stop the car, Solomon, somewhere near the leave-boat; it won’t do to drive right up to the hospital; we might be spotted.”

Peter leaned out of the window on his side. The lights on the quay glowed steadily across the dark water, and made golden flicking streaks upon it as the tide swelled slowly in. In the distance a great red eye flashed in and out solemnly, and on their side he could see the shaded lights of the hospital ship, getting ready for her night crossing. He judged it was time, and told the man to stop.

“Where’s my powder-puff?” demanded Julie. “I believe you’ve bagged it, Captain Donovan. No, it’s here. Skip out, Tommy. Is anyone about?”

“No,” said the girl from the step. “But don’t wait all night. We’d best run for it.”

“Well, good-night,” said Julie. “You have both been dears, but whether I’m steady enough to get in safely I don’t know. Still, Tommy’s a rock. See you again soon. Good-bye-ee!”

She leaned forward. “Now, if you’re good,” she said to Donovan. He kissed her, laughing; and before he knew what she was doing, she reached over to Peter, kissed him twice on the lips, and leaped lightly out. “Be good,” she said, “and if you can’t, be careful.”