That was the rub. Doggie passed his hand over his hair ruefully. How on earth could he get to Frelus again? Not till the end of the war, at any rate, which might be years hence. There was nothing for it but a resumption of intimacy by letter. So he wrote to Jeanne the letter which loyalty to Peggy had made him destroy weeks ago. But no answer came. Then he wrote another, telling her of Peggy and his freedom, and his love and his hopes, and to that there came no reply. A prepaid telegram produced no result. Doggie began to despair. What had happened to Jeanne? Why did she persist in ruling him out of her existence? Was it because, in spite of her gratitude, she wanted none of his love? He sat on the railing on the sea front of the south coast town where he was quartered, and looked across the Channel in dismayed apprehension. He was a fool. What could there possibly be in little Doggie Trevor to inspire a romantic passion in any woman's heart? Take Peggy's case. As soon as a real, genuine fellow like Oliver came along, Peggy's heart flew out to him like needle to magnet. Even had he been of Oliver's Paladin mould, what right had he to expect Jeanne to give him all the wonder of herself after a four days' acquaintance? Being what he was, just little Doggie Trevor, the assumption was an impertinence. She had sheltered herself from it behind a barrier of silence. A girl, a thing of low-cut blouse, truncated skirts and cheap silk stockings, who had been leaning unnoticed for some time on the rails by his side, spoke. "You seem to be pretty lonely." Doggie swerved round. "Yes, I am, darned lonely." "Come for a walk, or take me to the pictures." "And then?" asked Doggie, swinging to his feet. "If we get on all right, we can fix up something for to-morrow." She was pretty, with a fair, frizzy, insolent prettiness. She might have been any age from fourteen to four-and-twenty. Doggie smiled, tempted to while away a dark hour. But he said, honestly: "I'm afraid I should be a dull companion." "What's the matter?" she laughed. "Lost your best girl?" "Something like it." He waved a hand across the sea. "Over there." "French? Oh!" She drew herself up. "Aren't English girls good enough for you?" "When they're sympathetic, they're delightful," said he. "Oh, you make me tired! Good-bye," she snapped, and stalked away. After a few yards she glanced over her shoulder to see whether he was following. But Doggie remained by the railings. Presently he shrugged his shoulders and went off to a picture palace by himself and thought wistfully of Jeanne. * * * * *