"And by so doing they may have seen us," she declared apprehensively. "I hope not." "And even if they did, they surely would not recognise us again," he exclaimed. "But," he added, "no time must be lost. You must take another brief holiday from the theatre, and see what we can do." "Very well," was the dancer's reply. "I'll see Mr Pettigrew to-morrow, and get a rest. It will give my understudy a chance." Over a fortnight went by. It was half-past five o'clock on a cold January evening when a trainful of merry-faced girl munition workers stood at the Central Station at G-- ready to start out to Rivertown to work on the night shift in those huge roaring factories where the big shells were being made. Each girl wore a serviceable raincoat and close-fitting little hat, each carried a small leather attache-case with her comb, mirror, and other little feminine toilet requisites, and each wore upon her blouse the brass triangle which denoted that she was a worker on munitions. Peering out from the window of one of those dingy third-class compartments was a young girl in a rather faded felt hat and a cheap navy-blue coat, while upon the platform, apparently taking notice of nobody, stood a tallish young man in a brown overcoat. The munition-girl was Ella Drost, and the man her lover, Seymour Kennedy. As the train at last moved out across the long bridge over the river, the pair exchanged glances, and then Ella, with her brass triangle on her blouse, sat back in the crowded carriage in thought, her little attache-case upon her knees, listening to the merry chat of her fellow-workers. Arrived at the station, she followed the crowd of workers to the huge newly-erected factory close by, a great hive of industry where, through night and day, Sunday and weekday, over eight thousand women made big shells for the guns at the front. At the entrance-gate each girl passed singly beneath the keen eyes of door-keepers and detectives, for no intruder was allowed within, it being as difficult for strangers to gain admission there as to enter the presence of the Prime Minister at Downing Street. The shifts were changing, and the day-workers were going off. Hence there was considerable bustle, and many of those lathes drilling and turning the great steel projectiles were, for the moment, still. Presently the night-workers began to troop in, each in her pale-brown overall with a Dutch cap, around the edge of which was either a red or blue band denoting the status of the worker, while the forewomen were distinctive in their dark-blue overalls.