They were silent for seconds which dragged like minutes. Then they all began to say something together, interrupted themselves, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” “What were you going to say?” “Oh, nothing, I forget.” And then relapsed into silence again. Winterbourne found he was slightly intimidated by the presence of these two well-dressed ladies. What on earth were they doing at two o’clock in the morning, talking to a Tommy? He tried to hide his dirty hands. Damn the train! Won’t it ever go? He felt uncomfortably hot in his great-coat and began to unbutton it. The engine whistled. “All aboard!” shouted the R.T.O. Winterbourne hastily kissed Fanny and then Elizabeth. “Good-bye, good-bye, don’t forget to write. We’ll send you parcels.” “Thanks, ever so. Good-bye.” He made for the compartment where a door had been left open for him, but found it full. The luggage van piled with the men’s rations was next door. Winterbourne jumped in. “You’ll have to stand!” exclaimed Fanny. “Why, no. There’s plenty of room on the floor.” The train moved. “Good-bye.” Winterbourne waved his hand. He felt no particular emotion, merely an intensifying of the general depressingness of things. He watched them receding, as they waved their hands. Beautiful girls both of them, and so smartly dressed. “Be happy!” he shouted, as a valediction, in a sudden gust of disinterested affection for them. And then lost sight of them. Fanny and Elizabeth were both crying. “What did he shout?” asked Elizabeth through her sobs. “‘Be happy!’” “How curious of him! And how like him! Oh, I know I shall never see him again.” Fanny tried to comfort her. But Elizabeth somehow felt it was all Fanny’s fault. * * * * * Winterbourne sat on his pack in the joggling van for about ten minutes. It was almost dark. The guard was trying to read a newspaper by the light of a dim oil lamp. The soldiers who had to see that the rations weren’t stolen were already lying on the floor. Winterbourne buttoned up his coat, turned up the collar, arranged a woollen scarf on his pack to make a pillow, and lay down on the dirty floor beside them. In five minutes he was asleep. [ III ] It was not nearly dawn when they reached Folkestone. The drafts from various units were now amalgamated, but still remained under their own officers. They were marched through the dull little town and bivouacked in a row of large empty houses, probably evacuated boarding-houses, fitted up with the usual inconveniences of small English hotels. They washed and had some breakfast. All rather dismal.