_His own life for each!_... There—there was common sense at last, behind the fever and the glamour!... _His own life for each_.... And yet—one was lonely sometimes.... Oh, well—he must think things out.... But not now.... Laura was right—it wasn’t the time. He clung to the comfortable phrase. That was the best of Laura.... She was a reasonable woman ... never worried you.... It was worth while to be at peace with Laura.... How the week had flown! He wished he had had time to go to London again.... There was that play he had wanted to see.... It must wait for his next leave.... His next leave! He was as bad as Laura! And he had forgotten to order—but he had given Laura the list.... Laura would see to all that.... It would be a great relief to be able to write to Laura again ... he hated worrying his mother.... And Laura didn’t mind the bother.... It was comical—he really believed she enjoyed it.... Women were amazing creatures.... They were none too soon at the station. Laura had barely time to settle him in a carriage with his ticket and his paper and his pipe, when a black and burly voice interposed between her and the carriage door— “Stand back, please—stand back now, please!” The train began to move. Justin thrust out a friendly hand. “Well—good-bye, Laura.” “Good-bye, Justin.” She kept pace for a moment with the gathering speed of the train. “Justin—take care! You will take care? Don’t bother about V.C.s. and things.” He laughed at that. She could do so little for him, but at least she could always make him laugh. The train carried away Justin laughing. She watched it dwindle to a toy and vanish in the tunnel, and still stood watching till the track wavered and danced, as she fought her blinding tears and petitioned the skies for Justin. “Keep him safe, God. O God, keep him safe. Let him come back to me. O God, let him come back to me.” One voice of a thousand thousand, uplifted daily, hourly, in that cry—how shall it be preferred? Yet I believe, I cannot help believing, that in the fulness of time he will come back to her. * * * * * Well, Collaborator—do you like it? You are sitting so silently in your big chair, and your knitting has dropped to the floor—— Collaborator, don’t look so solemn! They’re not real people! They’re not real troubles! Only marionettes that we have set a-jig-jigging up and down our mantelpiece to make us laugh o’ nights, and forget the unending war. And now we will send them jigging up and down printed pages, to do the same, if they can, for other poor folk. Do you know how late it is, Collaborator? Rake out the fire, if you please, and come to bed. What is the matter? You feel cheated? We have seen the completion of Laura, you say—but only the beginning of Justin? But that is the story! It was to be a comedy of growth—not a drama of maturity. First the blade, then the ear—I never promised you the full corn.