Over these there brooded the spectre of three years and more of War. Their eyes were heavy with lack of sleep as they lurched heavily along, blinking around them at London once again; they were dirty and loaded down with gear, they were strung about with mess-tins and water-bottles and boots and brown-paper parcels and battered shrapnel helmets. One or two of them had Hun helmets tied to their knapsacks. They wore greasy remnants of caps, disreputable goatskin coats. All over them was thickly caked the foul mud of the trenches. What a contrast.... The mob of straggling scarecrows turned to give a friendly stare, a "Cheerio" to their smart American comrades as they swung past in their immaculate fours. "See you in ten days!" shouted a Tommy. Olwen Ross, up at the window, thrust out her little black head to watch the Americans. "Oh, they are magnificent," she breathed excitedly. "Aren't you proud of them, Golden?" "Am I _proud_ of them!" laughed her friend. But while the Welsh girl was all eyes for these new troops, the American girl's wide gaze turned upon the others with whom they must soon be standing shoulder to shoulder; the war-worn soldiers, muddy, tattered, scarred, exhausted, cheery still.... "_They_ are magnificent, Olwen, I guess," said she. And her opinion seemed to be shared by a countryman. A quick and graceful thought struck the officer in charge of those Americans. Suddenly and clearly, above the buzz of the street, the rhythmic tramp of feet, there snapped out his order: "Company----eyes----RIGHT!" Every head under the straight-brimmed hat turned sharply towards those heroic scallywags their allies. Perhaps that young American company officer would have explained, diplomatically, that the word of command had been for his men to give the Eyes Right to that British subaltern who was passing with the leave-men; a white-faced, hollow-eyed stripling with two gold stripes on his cuff and the black "flash" of the Royal Welsh Fusiliers fluttering at his nape. But if it were ostensibly for him, it was also for his men. The new Allies, equipped for Victory, saluted the old, all but broken, but carrying on.... And the bright eyes of the two girls at the windows above shone suddenly, mistily brighter at the sight. As they watched the two bodies of men disappear----those marching towards Victoria and the boat-train, these straggling towards a soldiers' hostel in Buckingham Palace Road, Golden said softly, "My people, Olwen, honouring yours." Olwen said, "Yes; but mine are yours now, and yours are mine." She turned from the window and into the little sitting-room with her guest's arm in hers. "What's the time?" asked young Mrs. Awdas. "I'm due to sing at the hospital at four. We'll have to hurry----" She lifted, on Olwen's blouse, the tiny pin-on watch which was one of her friend's wedding presents. Then she exclaimed, "What have you got tied around here?"