"If you make free with my Christian name I must retort by using yours," she said one day on coming down to breakfast. "So, 'Good-morning, Arthur.' Where did you get that hat?" The hat in question was a purchase, a wide-brimmed felt such as is common in Flanders. Its Apache slouch, in conjunction with Jan Maertz's oldest clothes and a week's stubble of beard, made Dalroy quite villainous-looking. Except in the details of height and physique, it would, indeed, be difficult for any stranger to associate this loose-limbed Belgian labourer with the well-groomed cavalry officer who entered the Friedrich Strasse Station in Berlin on the night of 3rd August. That was as it should be, though the alteration was none the less displeasing to its victim. Irene adopted a huge sun-bonnet, and compromised as to boots by wearing _sabots en cuir_, or clogs. Singularly enough, white-haired Monsieur Garnier nearly brought matters to a climax as between these two. On the Wednesday evening, when the last forts of Liège were crumbling, Madame Joos was reported convalescent and asleep, so both girls came to the little _salon_ for a supper of stewed veal. Naturally the war was discussed first; but the priest was learning to agree with his English friend about its main features. In sheer dismay at the black outlook before his country, he suddenly turned the talk into a more intimate channel. "What plans have you youngsters made?" he asked. "Monsieur Joos and I can only look back through the years. The places we know and love are abodes of ghosts. The milestones are tombstones. We can surely count more friends dead than living. For you it is different. The world will go on, war or no war; but Verviers will not become your residence, I take it." "Jan and I mean to join our respective armies as soon as Monsieur Joos and the ladies are taken care of, and that means, I suppose, safely lodged in England," said Dalroy. "If Léontine likes to marry me first, I'm agreeable," put in Maertz promptly. It was a naïve confession, and every one laughed except Joos. "Léontine marries neither you nor any other hulking loafer while there is one German hoof left in Belgium," vowed the little man warmly. The priest smiled. He knew where the shoe pinched. Maertz, if no loafer, was not what is vulgarly described as "a good catch." "I've lost my parish," he said jestingly, "and, being an inveterate match-maker, am on the _qui vive_ for a job. But if father says 'No' we must wait till mother has a word. Now for the other pair.--What of you?" Irene blushed scarlet, and dropped her serviette; Dalroy, though flabbergasted, happily hit on a way out. "I'm surprised at you, monsieur!" he cried. "Look at mademoiselle, and then run your eye over me. Did ever pretty maid wed such a scarecrow?" "I must refer that point to mademoiselle," retorted the priest. "I don't think either of you would choose a book by the cover."