"Give her every chance, at all events," was the unspoken thought of Mrs. Core. "If that's the One and Only she'll be thankful for ever that she had on her pink when he came. Supposed to make no difference to the man what a girl's got on! It's her the difference is made to. Shan't forget my poor Harry comin' up to the scratch when I was all anyhow and my head tied up for the Spring-cleaning. Way men spoil things if they can! ... But whatever's happened or going to happen about Miss Fayre and her young gentleman that's in this tearin' hurry to see her she'll be glad she was turned out daintily for the occasion. Him in uniform and all." Here the little woman opened the door of that small fitting-room. She gave one last touch, that was almost a gentle push, to the back of the pretty pink bodice. "Some one that you know in there!" she announced. Then, standing outside herself, she closed the door, briskly and decisively, upon the entrance of Rosamond Fayre. CHAPTER X THE LAST LINE Rosamond, coming into the room, beheld first of all a stalwart and obstinate-looking back, clad in khaki. The owner of the back was sitting at the journal-littered table. His head was bent down over something that he seemed to have taken out of his tunic-pocket. A young man--in khaki? Ah, yes; Miss Fayre jumped at once to the idea of the only young man in that rig who was likely to be calling upon her. Why had he? What a pity! She'd hoped it was over, the good-bye to that young man. Still, she was bound to be "nice" to him--poor, poor fellow! She came forward with a little rush as she cried, "Why, I thought you were _off_, Cecil?" The young man stood up. At first she was only surprised at the height of him in that get-up. She hadn't remembered that Cecil was so tall? He turned. "Sorry," he said. "It isn't Cecil." And he looked straight into her eyes. She gave a breathless little gasp. "Oh! It's--Why--_Is_ it Mr. Urquhart?" "Yes," said Mr. Urquhart, gloomily. He felt that this was the worst start that could possibly have been made. He didn't know what to say next. All he could think of saying was, "It isn't 'Cecil.'" "No. I see, now," said the girl, wishing that she could speak without that silly, that idiotic flutter (of astonishment). "I--I thought for a minute it was Mr. Bray, because he's in the Territorials. I thought it must be. I didn't expect to see _you_--in uniform." "Obviously not," said he, grimly. She wished again that this surprise hadn't taken her breath away and made her hand shake. She steadied it on the back of the chair, and stood facing him, all at sea. "Is it really--Are you joining, too, then?" "Of course I'm joining," he told her, resentfully. "After being kept waiting since the day War was declared. That was when I wanted to join." "Oh, was it?" said Rosamond Fayre. And that part of the surprise fell away from her.