It was while watching the crowd surging into the Piccadilly Tube entrance, that John's heart suddenly leapt up in surprise. Surely--yes, it was the undisguisable Marsh--and yet! John stared a moment. A tall, sun-browned youth in kilts, with the black and red hose of the Black Watch, was laughing down into the face of a girl whose hand rested persuasively on his arm. She was pursuing her profession, the oldest under the sun, with all the usual assets, the flaunting white stole over the shoulders, the large beaded vanity bag, one hand gloved, the other thin, manicured and nervous, glittering with rings, too large to be genuine. There was something pathetically obvious in the loud declaration of her clothes, the challenge of her carriage, the provoking tilt of her hat over large observant eyes. She had found her object of a night's passion and pay--the human agent of bread and rent. Here was another youth, beautiful in his strength, snatching at a brief expression of manhood as a pleasurable anodyne for an approaching ordeal. She turned and the young officer half hesitated. John moved forward. "Marsh!" he said quietly. A malevolent look glittered beneath the dark hat, the tall youth peered at the intruder half-resentfully; even then he seemed confused. With a shock, more of pain than disgust, John saw that Marsh was not quite sober. "What are you--" began John, when Marsh's senses cleared. "Scissors, by God, this is great!" Then, awkwardly, he grew conscious again of his company, insistently standing by him-- "This lady is--is--" "That's all right, Marsh--where are you going?" asked John. "He's coming home with me," said the girl sullenly. John put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a note. "This is an old friend I've not seen for a long time--I want to talk to him," he said quietly, putting the note in her hand. Defiantly she thrust it back, and her mouth, hard and unpleasant, curled malevolently; she was baulked of her prey. "Keep yer bl---- money, I'm not depending on missionaries," she snarled. John looked at her calmly. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to offend you. Then you will join me at supper with my friend?" There was something so kind and disarming in his voice, that she suddenly melted. Her eyes assumed a tenderness surprising and almost pathetic. "I'll go--he's your pal I see, and you poor boys may not meet again." .She turned away, but John put a detaining hand on her arm. "I really meant my invitation," he said quietly. Then (God! the horror of it!), she momentarily misinterpreted his insistence, and involuntarily her professional air returned, only to be dispelled again by the kind cleanliness of the young man's eyes. "No--kid, thanks, I guess I'll pick up a boy." John put his hand in hers.