Five minutes later, they groped their way mechanically upstairs to Marjorie’s landing, while a slightly incredulous taxi-driver, with one of the newly-invented pound notes in his oily palm, drove hurriedly away before somebody came out of the chloroform. "You are thinner, dear, and older—much older," was Marjorie’s verdict when they found themselves under the lamp by the sofa. "You look more like thirty than twenty. I expect things have been pretty awful sometimes, haven’t they?" Roy nodded. "Yes, sometimes," he said. "I’ll tell you about it one day." Then, suddenly and boyishly: "Dearest, you look wonderful!" It was no more than the truth. Marjorie had felt tired enough a couple of hours ago; but now her cheeks were pink, and her eyes glowed. Her hair had suddenly recovered its lustre. For the first time in six months she looked what she was—twenty. But she realised that the old Roy could never come back to her. Her smooth-cheeked schoolboy was gone, and in his place she had a man—thin as a lath, healthily bronzed, and curiously grave. The Western Front lost no time in making a man in those days—or breaking him. They kissed again, with absolute lack of shyness this time. Suddenly a thought struck Marjorie. "Good gracious!" she cried. "What time is it?" "Seven o’clock. Why?" "My dear—the theatre! I’d forgotten all about it. I am an honest working girl, and the curtain goes up at eight-thirty!" "By gum!" said Roy, who of course knew all about "Too Many Girls." "_Absent from parade when warned for duty_, eh? That will never do. What about it? Can’t you get a night off?" "I might," said Marjorie doubtfully. "Most of the girls send a doctor’s certificate. But I don’t think it’s the game. They overdo it so." "Quite right!" said that young disciplinarian, Lieutenant Birnie. "But it’s a bit rough, all the same." A key rattled loudly and tactfully in the outer door, which then opened with mature deliberation, and Liss appeared. "I hadn’t meant to butt in," she explained, after introductions, "but I just want to say that I have seen Lancaster, and he says you can have the night off. I told him about you," she explained to Roy, "and he said you could have her this evening if you promised faithfully to send her back for to-morrow’s show." "I will bring her back myself," replied Roy, "and buy the whole front row to watch her from!" "Righto! Good-bye, children! Enjoy yourselves!" said Liss, and vanished, like a diplomatic little wraith. After that, Roy and Marjorie sat down to make plans.