*II* Marjorie woke up in the afternoon—herself again, but stiff and bruised. She rose, and entered the sitting-room. Liss was lying on the sofa, reading the _Daily Mirror_ and smoking a cigarette. She sprang up on seeing Marjorie, and flew to her, stopping just in time. "Sorry, duckie!" she said. "I must remember that arm of yours. Are you feeling all right again?" "Splendid!" said Marjorie. "What time is it?" "About four." "Let us have some tea then, and I’ll go round to the hospital and get my arm dressed again. Hallo, it’s raining!" "Yes; it has been pouring ever since eleven o’clock this morning," said Liss; and coughed. Marjorie turned upon her sharply. Liss was one of those persons to whom coughing is a forbidden luxury. "Liss," she cried, "you’re soaking! Every rag you have on is sticking to you! What’s the matter?" She began to fumble at the back of the child’s blouse. "Here, undress yourself! I have only one hand." "I got a bit wet when I went out to the theatre," said Liss airily. "But why on earth didn’t you—" Marjorie glanced towards the bedroom door, and stopped abruptly. She understood. "I see," she said, "you didn’t want—? Was that it? How long have you been like this?" "Oh, not long," Liss assured her; and coughed again. *III* Marjorie, returning from her alternative role of out-patient to resume that of head nurse, walked into the flat, and sat down heavily on Liss. "How are you feeling this morning, Baby?" she inquired. "Top-hole!" replied the invalid. Three weeks had passed. Liss was now convalescent; but congestion of the lungs is not a malady to be taken lightly, especially by little wraiths with weak chests. Marjorie herself had nearly shaken off the shock-effect of the raid. Her arm was still lightly bandaged. "It’s a lovely day," she said. "I will take you for a bus ride this afternoon, if you’re good. Meanwhile, I want to have a pow-wow with you." Marjorie had picked up this expression from Roy, and was rather proud of it. "What about?" "Well—have you any money?" "I thought there’d be a catch about it," said Liss, reaching out to the little table beside her bed for the bag in which the young woman of to-day is reputed to keep everything but the kitchen stove. "Let me see!" she said. She laid out on the counterpane a cigarette-case bearing a regimental crest, a match-case bearing another, entirely different, a long cigarette-holder, a powder-puff box, a lip-stick, and a diminutive handkerchief. "Now we’re getting down to business!" she announced encouragingly. "Here’s a shilling—a threepenny bit—and four pennies. Wait a minute! Here’s a crumpled up thing here that might be a Bradbury. No, it’s a note from Reggie. I suppose I oughtn’t to keep that now!"