Margaret just left herself time to hurry upstairs and change her uniform in her lodgings before she returned to the hospital. Michael waited for her in the square.
Before they left it, Margaret said, "I want you to shake hands with an old friend of mine. We'll have to pass her seat; she is always here. She's a great character, an old actress—such a good sort."
As they passed the shabby little woman, picking down old uniforms, Meg stopped. The woman looked up; her eyes brightened. The V.A.D. had a soldier with her—her lover, she could see that at a glance. He had brought an atmosphere of romance and passion into the laburnum-lit garden.
Margaret introduced Michael, who was perfectly at his ease on such an occasion.
"My friend has arrived from the Front," she said. "We are going to be married the day after to-morrow . . ." she paused, ". . . that is to say, if I can get leave from my hospital for a week."
The woman looked up at the handsome couple. "Well, what a surprise!" she said, as she stared hard at Michael. "Who would ever have thought that you were going to be married so soon? You never even told me you were engaged! You were very sly." She smiled happily.
Margaret laughed at her astonished expression. "I mustn't stop to tell you about it now," she said. "My time is up—I ought to be back in ten minutes to my cups and saucers. I just wanted you to shake hands with the man I'm going to marry."
The woman rose from her seat. As she did so, the old scarlet coat which she had been unpicking fell to her feet. She glanced at her hands, as much as to say, "They aren't very clean." Michael held out his, ignoring her hesitation, and gave her slender, artist's fingers a hearty shake and warm grasp.
The old actress's emotions were kindled; poverty had not dimmed the romance of her world.
"You'll do, sir," she said. "You'll do—you'll do for the sweetest and truest lady that lives in London town."