Roy's telegram preceded him by exactly one hour, so Marjorie had little time to get excited. She merely embraced Liss, changed her frock, embraced Liss again, changed her frock again, and dashed off to Victoria. After that her recollection of events went out of focus a little. She had watched the arrival of the Leave-train so often merely as a benevolent spectator, that sudden and personal participation in that function disarranged her perspectives.
She caught sight of Roy almost at once—singling out his glengarry from among the flat caps and steel helmets. He was politely resisting the importunity of an elderly gentleman in a grey uniform and a red brassard, bent on luring him to a free ride upon the Underground Railway. Next moment, Marjorie had slipped her arm through his. After that, neither of them remembered anything much until they found themselves sitting hand in hand in a taxi, gliding stealthily through the darkened streets of London, both feeling a little constrained and embarrassed. Re-united lovers, especially of our nation, do not always spark immediately on contact. We are a highly-insulated race.
"They keep this old place pretty dark," said Roy, peering out of the cab window. "Zeppelins, I suppose?"
"Yes. We had some last week."
"Have you ever seen one?"
"Rather!"
Roy laughed, constrainedly.
"It's funny you should have seen something in this war that I haven't," he said. "Where are we going?"
"To my flat."
Roy turned and surveyed Marjorie's profile in the dim light of the cab.