This was a happy solution of the problem of _Ts_ and _Tch_, and Philip gratefully accepted it. "And I dare say I might find time to help him with the transpositions, if you're very anxious to get them done." "Oh, will you? Yes, thank you, that would be excellent." Miss Johnstone turned to leave the room; one of her necklaces broke under the strain of continuous plaiting, and a number of tiny green shells peppered the floor. "There, that's the third time it's done that to-day," she exclaimed. "I'm so sorry." Sylvia, Philip, and she gathered up as many as were not trodden upon in the search, and at last Miss Johnstone managed to get out of the room. "No wonder you're worn out," said Sylvia, with a smile. It seemed quite natural to comment rather intimately like this upon Philip's health. "But you haven't answered my question. Would you have recognized me?" "Oh yes, I should have recognized you. I only saw you last year at the Pierian Hall." "Did you go to see me there?" she exclaimed, touched by his having wanted to see her act without letting her know anything about his visit. "Yes, I enjoyed the performance; it was excellent. I wonder why you're in Bucharest. Wouldn't you be better in England in war-time?" "I think it's much more surprising to find you here," she said. "Oh, I was sent out here to look after passports." "But, Philip, why were you chosen as an expert on human nature?" She could not resist the little stab; and he smiled sadly. "I knew the country," he explained. "I'd done some excavating here, so the War Office made me an honorary captain and sent me out." "Are you a captain? What fun! Do you remember when I wanted you to enlist for the South African War and you were so annoyed? But I suppose you're shocked by my reviving old memories like this. Are you shocked, Philip?" "No, no, I'm not shocked. I'm still rather overcome by the suddenness of your visit. What are you doing here?" "I'm singing at the Trianon. All the winter I was at the Petit Maxim." "Those places," he said, with a look of distaste. "It would take too long to explain to you why," she went on. "But you can't disapprove of my being there more than I do myself; and it's for that very reason that I want a visa for England." "Of course you shall have one immediately. You're much better at home in these detestable times." "But I also want something else. I want a passport for a friend--an English girl." "Hasn't she got a passport? Does she want hers renewed?" "I'd better tell you the whole story. I expect that since you've become the U.V.W.X.Y.Z. of Bucharest you've listened to plenty of sad stories, but you must pay special attention to this one for my sake. I don't know why I say 'for my sake'--it's rather an improper remark for a divorced wife. Philip, do you remember in my show at the Pierian an Improvisation about a girl who had been horribly ill treated as a child and was supposed to be lost in a great city?"