Olwen enjoyed her thoroughly; her appreciation mingling with a wonder why she did not sometimes bitterly resent Mrs. Newton and her remarks. Yes, two months of War work on The Honeycomb had taught Olwen already more than the A, B, C, and D of her job. Self-possession, serenity and poise, all newly acquired, were to be noticed now about the young girl as she sorted her letters (very different from the leisured correspondence of her Uncle), and smiled, partly at some thought that she was holding in reserve, and partly at her fellow-worker. Mrs. Newton began again, "Do you know what I think is the keynote of F. F.'s character?" "Fascination, you seem to make out," suggested Olwen, that divided smile deepening upon her lips. She sometimes thought that Mrs. Newton dwelt upon the subject of their chief for her (Olwen's) benefit, and she was prepared for it. "Ah! But I mean the _real_ keynote. It's _jealousy_," declared the young married woman. "He's a _jealous_ thing. Hates any other man to have a show at all. Must have everybody doing their best work, just for his _beaux yeux_ (not that he's got any, except those teeth). Yes; our Fergus must be IT in this Honeycomb. He must be _The_ Great Captain----" She stopped abruptly as the door of cell 0369 opened to frame the black head, square shoulders, red tabs, and empty sleeve of the man of whom she'd been speaking; the chief of their section, Captain Fergus Ross himself. "Mrs. Newton," he said, in the tone of business unalloyed, "have they sent up to you a letter that was taken in error to room 0720? A letter from A G 6, dated the 22nd?" "It's here, Captain Ross," replied the head of the room in her demurest treble. "Miss Howel-Jones was attending to it.... Here it is." "Right. Thank you," said Captain Ross. His bright dark glance took in the letter that Mrs. Newton handed him; it passed over the filed stack of other letters; it swept over the two desks, the typing-table, Miss Lennon's back, the calendar, the pinned-up Matania drawing on the wall, the green electric-light shades, the glass on the mantelpiece holding freesias, the chairs, the waste-paper basket--in short, over every object in the room but one. For Olwen Howel-Jones, bending absorbed over her work, Captain Ross did not spare a fraction of his glance. "Mrs. Newton, I am going out to lunch now," he announced. "Should there be any enquiries, I shall be back before two-thirty." "Very well, Captain Ross." (Exit Captain Ross.) Then Mrs. Newton in Major Leefe's voice, "Wha'? Old Ferg' gone t' lunch? _Bet_ you he's taking out some gir', Miss Howel-Jo'." Olwen smiled undisturbed as she went to put on her her hat. Twenty minutes later she was sitting at a table for two in a Soho restaurant, opposite to Captain Ross. This meeting was not due to any arrangement.