"Boys to meet, Peggy!" called the girl at the piano. Now, her voice was neither Cockney nor Welsh, but that of what was once called "the governing class." What a queer mixture they were here!
Peggy looked demure and remarked:
"I'm astonished at you," and strolled forth into the evening sunlight.
"Her young gentleman's in the hospital here," Vic informed us. "There's some real nice wounded boys there now. But for those, we girls might forget what a young man looked like."
Here Elizabeth spoke for the second time, looking, for the first time, a shade happier. She inquired "Ah, don't they allow men here?"
Chorus of variously accented "No's." With cheerful resignation Vic added, "Young men's very strictly rationed in this camp. Only our Mr. Price from the farm (o' course he's big enough to count for three!) and Mr. Rhys—the—Forestry, as they call him. Not another man is allowed to set his foot inside this place, so——"
She broke off as if she caught sight of something.
"Whoever's this?" she ejaculated. I, nearest the open window, followed her look.
Two men, a little one and a tall one in khaki, were walking quickly up the path to the camp.
A young man in khaki, wearing a Sam Browne!