“I’ll send Orace over to fetch you after dinner,” he said. “I think it’d be better if I didn’t appear. Put a bathing costume on under your frock; and when the time comes I’ll give you a belt and the neatest waterproof holster, that’ll just carry your fit in guns. But I’ll give you the shooter now.” He took a little automatic from his pocket, slipped the jacket to bring a cartridge into the chamber, and clicked over the safety catch. “And it’s not for ornament,” he added. “If the occasion calls for it, let fly, and apologise to the body. Have you ever handled this sort of gadget?” “Often. I used to go and shoot in revolver ranges on piers.” “Then that’s all to the good. Put it away in your pocket—but don’t flourish it about unnecessarily, because it belongs to Bloem. I picked his pocket when I was showing him out last night, thinking it might be handy to have around the house.” She rose. “I’d better be getting along,” she said. “I shall have a lot to do this afternoon. And we assemble after dinner?” “Eightish,” he said. “Don’t take any risks till then. I just hate having to let you out of my sight even for as long as that. You never know what Tigers are up to. All the help I can give you is, distrust everybody and everything, keep your head and use it, and don’t go and walk into the first trap that’s set for you like any fool heroine in a novel.” Her arms went round his neck, and he held her close to him for a while. And then she drew back her head and looked up at him with a smile, though her eyes were brimming. “Oh, I’m silly,” she said. “But love’s like that, old boy. What about me letting you out of my sight for so long?” “I’m safer than the Bank of England,” he reassured her. “The gipsy told me I’d die in my bed at the ripe old age of ninety-nine. And d’you think I’m going to let the Tiger or anyone else book me to Kingdom Come when I’ve got you waiting for me here? I am not!” And then there had to be a further delay, which need not be reported. For those who have lost their hearts know all about these things, and those who haven’t don’t deserve to be told. . . . But at last he had to let her go, so he kissed her again and then took her hand and kissed that. And afterwards he took her shoulders and squared them up, and drew himself up in front of her. “Soldier’s wives, Pat!” he commanded. “Cheerio—and the best of luck!” “Cheerio, Saint!” she answered. “God bless you. . . .” She flung him a brave smile, and turned and walked off down the hill with Orace ambling behind like a faithful dog. Just before the path led her round a bend and out of sight she stopped and waved her handkerchief, and the Saint waved back. Then she was gone, and he wondered if he would ever see her again.