“Bill! Don’t be awful.... Do you think that grey dress looks nice enough ...? We needn’t go anywhere _really_ smart, need we ...?” The man put his pipe down on the mantelpiece, and crossing the little room took her face between his hard hands. Three times he kissed her: once on the forehead, once on the mouth, and once on the tip of her pretty nose. “Anything’s good enough,” he said, and his voice vibrated on a note she rarely heard. Then abruptly he released her and turned to his son. “Now then, John Willie, come on outside! I’m going to bowl to you, and if you don’t keep a straight bat you shall never come on board daddy’s ship again.” * * * * * III The taxi jolted up the cobbled gradient that led out of the gloom of the great terminus, and slipped into the traffic that flowed east and west along the sunlit thoroughfare. “Oh, look at it all,” said the Commander’s wife. “What fun, what fun! Why does everybody look as if they were having a holiday too? Look at the rosettes on the horses’ blinkers ... _and_ the flowers--Bill, look at the flowers....” she sighed luxuriously. “Oh, how nice all these commonplace things are!” Her hand stole inside her husband’s. “Can they see us, d’you think ...?” “They never used to,” replied the man. He watched her animated smiling face as she glanced delightedly about her at the familiar shops and women’s frocks and all the gay tide of London setting to and fro. Her eyes softened. “It’s like old times, isn’t it?” she said. “The pair of us philandering in a taxi.... And the tuppences ticking up.... Are we really going to buy a hat?” “Not yet.” He glanced at his wrist watch. “No time now, I’ve got an appointment at twelve.” She gave his hand a little squeeze. “Tell me where we’re going.” “I told you. My outfitter.” “I know: but after that?” “Then I’ve got to--to pay a call. You’ll have to wait. Then----” “Who are you going to call on?” “A man.” “Any one I know?” “Well”--her husband threw back his head and chuckled delightedly--“not to speak to.” She shook him by the sleeve. “Don’t be silly and mysterious. Is he a naval officer?” “Er, yes.” “At the Admiralty?” “Down in that direction.” The cab slowed and pulled up. “Wait,” he said, and jumping out vanished between the swinging glass doors of the outfitter. A couple of minutes later he returned, carrying a sword and belt, resplendent in gilt and tassle. He stopped on the kerb, gave a low-voiced direction to the driver, and resumed his seat beside her. “You haven’t bought another sword!” she gasped. “You’ve got one already.” “Olo-piecee--too shabby. I’ve only borrowed this for the forenoon. You have to wear a sword to pay certain duty calls.”