After that they talked, as lovers will, of the present. They even spoke of the future—a subject upon which, in those days, few young people cared to hazard conjecture in cold blood. But to-night their blood ran hot and high. The world was theirs—for six days. "To-morrow morning," continued Roy, with an air of immense authority, "I shall take you out and buy you an engagement ring. It is perfectly scandalous your going about with me in this way without one! (Still, I suppose you will have to wear it round your neck on a string, anyway!) After that, a little shopping! I suppose there will be no harm if I buy you some things—long gloves, and high-heel shoes, and silk stockings, and things like that? We’ll throw in a nice sensible umbrella, as a chaperon! Then in the evening we will dine early, so as to give you plenty of time to get to your show." Marjorie laid her slim fingers upon Roy’s brown paw. "Darling," she said firmly, "to-morrow morning I am going to take you to a railway station, and you are going to take the train to Scotland, to see your father!" Roy’s face fell ludicrously. Then the smile he had inherited from his mother came suddenly back. He was all contrition. "Good Heavens! You had me there, dear. I own up! For the last twenty-four hours my noble parent has entirely escaped my memory. As soon as they told me that I could go on leave I simply grabbed my haversack, asked the Buzzers to send a wire, and then sprinted for the railhead. Poor old dad! Of course you’re right. I haven’t had a line from him for six weeks, by the way. I’ll send a telegram to Baronrigg at once, and start to-morrow." Then he added anxiously: "How long must I stay?" Marjorie considered. "Your father doesn’t know anything about _me_, of course?" she said. "No; nobody knows. It’s our secret—ours, and no one else’s!" The impulsive pair squeezed hands upon the secret, instantly revealing it to the obsequious neutral aforementioned. "Still, perhaps it would be as well if I told him, eh? Then he couldn’t object to my coming back here pretty quick." "Supposing he doesn’t approve?" said Marjorie doubtfully. "He doesn’t know me—nor my people, so far as I am aware. Or perhaps he does, which might be worse!" "My old dad’s a white man," said Roy stoutly. "He’d understand. He knows what it is for a fellow to have to go without. He once had to endure seeing his girl—my mother—engaged to another man for several months. He’ll understand, all right!" "I never knew that," said Marjorie. "Who was the other man?" "Colonel Bethune. Of course he was only a subaltern then." "_Who?_" Marjorie was fairly startled out of herself this time.