“Hullo. That you, Fanny? George speaking.” “_Darling!_ How are you? When did you get back?” “Two or three days ago. Didn’t you get my letter?” Fanny lied: “I’ve been away, and only found it when I got back just now.” “It doesn’t matter. Listen, will you dine with me to-night?” “Darling, I’m _so_ sorry, but I simply can’t. I’ve an appointment I simply must keep. _Such_ a bore!” Such a bore, as you say! Never mind, the visitation can’t last long, and.... “It doesn’t matter, darling. When can we meet?” “Just a moment, let me look at my memorandum book.” A brief silence. He could hear a faint voice from another line crossing his: “My God, you say he’s killed! And he only went back last week!” Fanny’s voice again. “Hullo? Are you there, George.” “Yes.” “To-day’s Wednesday. I’m awfully busy for some reason this week. Can you see me on Saturday for dinner?” “Must it be as late as Saturday? I’ve only a fortnight, you know.” “Well, you can make it lunch on Friday, if you prefer. I’m lunching with somebody, but you can come along. It’d be nicer to dine alone together, though, wouldn’t it?” “Yes, of course. Saturday then. What time?” “Seven-thirty, the usual place.” “All right.” “Good-bye, darling.” “Good-bye, Fanny dear.” * * * * * He dined alone and then went to a Circassian Café, which he had been told was the new haunt of the intelligentsia. It was very crowded, but he knew nobody there. He found a seat, and sat by himself. Opposite him at a couple of tables was a brilliant bevy of elegant young homosexuals, two of them in Staff Officers’ uniforms. They paid no attention to him, after a first supercilious stare, followed by a sneer. He felt uneasy, and wondered if he ought to be there in his Tommy’s uniform. Perhaps the Café was out of bounds. He paid for his coffee and left. After wandering about the streets for a time, he dropped into a pub in the Charing Cross road, and stood beside a couple of Tommies drinking beer. They were home-service N.C.O.’s, instructors he gathered from their conversation, which was all about some petty way in which they had scored off an officer who did not know his drill. Winterbourne thought he would stand them a drink and get into talk with them, but his eye fell on a notice which forbade “Treating.” He paid and left. He dropped into a music-hall. There were numbers of war songs, very patriotic, and patriotic war scenes with the women dressed in the flags of the Allied nations. All references to the superiority of the Allies and the inferiority of the Germans were heartily applauded. A particularly witty scene showed a Tommy capturing several Germans by attracting them with a sausage tied to the end of his bayonet. A chorus of girls in red pre-war military tunics sang a song about how all the girls love Tommy, kicking up their trousered legs in unison, and saluting very much out of unison. There was a Grand Finale of Victory to the tune of: