“I got a chance,” explained Boone, “to come here with Major Floyd—he’s our liaison officer with the British Mission back of the line—and have a look at this sector. The regiment may take it over next month. The Major knows the ground, and he took me down there”—he pointed backwards over his shoulder—“to see our advanced posts.” “Where are the trenches?” “Trenches? There are none. This is open warfare. The Yanks and the Huns are mixed up together in those woods, watching one another like cat and dog. We hold the stream, and some of the ground beyond. That pontoon bridge is covered by a concealed machine-gun post of ours, in case the Hun tries to rush it. It’s probable he had direct observation on it: that is why the Major and I did not linger much as we came across. We’re in a sort of pocket here. The German line bends around us. Some of their posts up in the woods have a clear view of the road, all the way up. Luckily visibility is bad to-day, or you might have been spotted. Now tell me what _you_ are doing here!” Frances told him—as much as she thought he need know. “And where is your hospital located?” demanded Boone. Miss Lane informed him. “That is more than thirty miles back!” cried Boone. “About that,” agreed Miss Lane meekly. “Does any one know you are here?” “I hope not! I mean, no one—except you, Boone,” replied Frances softly. The conscientious Boone made a last effort to maintain a judicial attitude. “Do you know you have committed a serious military offence?” he demanded fiercely. “Trying to get past sentries, and traffic police! Did you know that no women are allowed anywhere in the battle zone?” “Yes,” said Miss Lane demurely. “That was why we came—to break a record!” “And do you know that all this valley is liable to be searched with gas, and you have no gas-mask?” “I didn’t know that,” confessed the delinquent, “but I might have guessed it, I suppose. But I was dead tired of that old hospital, Boone, and I was just crazy to see the fighting!” “Crazy? That’s just the word. You crazy, crazy child!” said Boone affectionately. “Didn’t you know the chances you were taking?” “Yes,” said Frances Lane. “But”—her eyes were raised to his for one devastating moment—“I knew I was safe the moment I saw _you_, Boone!” “Oh, _Francie_!” murmured that utterly demoralized youth. * * * * * “And where are your headquarters located, Major?” enquired Miss Ryker brightly. The conversation had harped so far upon her own misdemeanours, and she was anxious to introduce a fresh topic. “I live chiefly with the Division holding this sector,” replied Major Floyd. “I am liaison officer.” “Don’t drop those cups. Just what does a liaison officer do?” “I act as bell-hop between the local British Mission and the Americans. I go around paging Generals and Staff Officers—and everything,” replied the Major. “There are no Generals here,” Miss Ryker pointed out.