"I told him that for the good of his soul, Tommy, and of the girls who came after me," she added a little grimly. "It was funny," she continued after a pause. "He didn't seem a bit eager to engage me after that. Said my speeds (which I hadn't told him) were not good enough; but to show there was no ill-feeling he tried to kiss me at parting. So I boxed his ears, slung his own inkpot at him and came away. Oh! it's a great game, Tommy, played slow," she added as an after-thought, and she hummed a snatch of a popular fox-trot. "The swine!" Thompson had just realised the significance of what he had heard. There was an ugly look in his eyes. "I then got a job at the Ministry of Economy and later at the Ministry of Supply, and the Chief lifted me out by my bobbed hair and put me into Department Z. That's why I call him my haven of refuge. See, dearest?" "What's the name of the fellow in Shaftesbury Avenue?" demanded Thompson, his thoughts centring round the incident she had just narrated. "Naughty Tommy," she cried, making a face at them, "Mustn't get angry and vicious. Besides," she added, "the Chief did for him." "You told him?" cried Thompson incredulously, his interest still keener than his appetite. "I did," she replied airily, "and he dropped a hint at Scotland Yard. I believe the gallant gentleman in Shaftesbury Avenue has something more than a smack and an inky face to remember little Gladys by. He doesn't advertise for secretaries now." Thompson gazed at her, admiration in his eyes. "But that doesn't explain why I always want to please the Chief, does it?" she demanded. "In romance, the knight kills the villain for making love to the heroine, and then gets down to the same dirty work himself. Now the Chief ought to have been bursting with volcanic fires of passion for me. He should have crushed me to his breast with merciless force, I beating against his chest-protector with my clenched fists. Finally I should have lain passive and unresisting in his arms, whilst he covered my eyes, ears, nose and 'transformation' with fevered, passionate kisses; not pecks like yours, Tommy; but the real thing with a punch in them." "What on earth----" began Thompson, when she continued. "There should have been a fearful tempest on the other side of his ribs. I should----" "Don't talk rot, Gladys," broke in Thompson. "I'm not talking rot," she protested. "I read it all in a novel that sells by the million." Then after a moment's pause she continued: "He saved me from the dragon; yet he doesn't even give me a box of chocolates, and everybody in Whitehall knows that chocolates and kisses won the war. When I fainted for him and he carried me into his room, he didn't kiss me even then." "You wouldn't have known it if he had," was Thompson's comment. "Oh! wouldn't I?" she retorted. "That's all you know about girls, Mr. Funny Thompson." He stared across at her, blinking his eyes in bewilderment.