"When does your leave end?" Marjorie asked, as they waited for the crowded train to start. "Let me see—this is Friday. I go back by the leave-train next Wednesday afternoon—" "Then travel back here on Sunday night," said Marjorie; "unless, of course, you can persuade your father to come back with you at once." Roy pondered. "I don’t know," he said, "that it wouldn’t be better to stick the week-end out at Baronrigg, and then come back alone, and have you all to myself." Your true lover is an uncompromising egotist. Marjorie at once recognised the superiority of Roy’s view. "All right," she said. "There’s the whistle! Get into the train, little man. Send me a telegram when you arrive." She watched the long train crawl out of sight, and went back to the flat with a hungry heart. Six days! And she had to give him up for three of them! Still, it was the game. But she had not to wait so long. Roy burst into the flat about noon the very next day—to the entire _bouleversement_ of Liss, who was a dilatory dresser. Redirected by her (from behind the bathroom door) he sought Marjorie at the canteen, dragged her almost forcibly out to lunch, and communicated his news in a breath. "Baronrigg is closed up tight! Has been for six weeks! Dad put all his affairs into order at the beginning of last month, and disappeared!" "Disappeared? What do you mean?" "Well, he simply shut up the house, gave what servants were left by the war a year’s wages, walked to the station, and took the train for London. He hasn’t been heard of since." "But where has he gone?" "Nobody knows!" "Was he ill, or anything?" "No. By all accounts he was as hard as nails and as fit as a fiddle." "But didn’t he leave any message?" asked Marjorie, bewildered. "Yes," replied Roy, unbuttoning his tunic pocket, "he did. This letter, for me. I got it from old Gillespie at the Bank. I expect Dad knew I’d pop in there!" "But doesn’t it explain?" asked Marjorie. "I don’t know," said Roy calmly. "I haven’t opened it yet." "You have had it for a day and a night, and haven’t opened it?" "No. I wanted to wait until you and I could read it together." "But weren’t you dying of curiosity?" "I was, rather. Still, I said to myself—" Marjorie slipped her arm impulsively into his. "Roy, dearest," she said, "_I_ could never have done that!" It was the first and last time Marjorie ever admitted to Roy that her sex was in any way inferior to his. They returned to the flat and read the letter together. That is to say, Roy read it aloud to Marjorie: _My dear Son,_ _You will remember that when the war broke out I was among those who thought it might have been avoided. I was also numbered among those who thought it would be a short war. I was wrong in both views._