ay through the crowd of passengers who
were disgorging from the train. Whatever happened, he must keep her in
sight; her obviously unpremeditated leaving of the train left him in
doubt as to her feelings towards him.

He was on leave, he was in "Blighty," and Margaret was only a few steps
ahead. He would risk anything rather than let her disappear and be
lost once more.

When Margaret reached the platform, she turned round. She wondered if
Michael had left the train. He was standing by her side. She laughed
delightedly, a girl's healthy laugh, and gave a breathless gasp.

"May I?" he said. "I have risked annoying you."

"Annoying me!" Margaret's eyes banished the idea; they carried him off
his feet. He was a soldier, home from the war; she was a girl, fresh
and sweet. She laid her hand on his arm. "I'm not angry, Michael--I
never was angry. Besides, you're . . . you're . . ." she hesitated.
"You're a Tommy," she said, "and I love every one of them."

Michael knew that her shyness made her link him with the men who were
fighting for their country. Even with the fondest lovers, there is a
nervous shyness between them for the first moments of meeting after a
prolonged separation. Margaret had moved closer to his side. His
passion drew her to him; it was like the current of a magnet.

"You mustn't stand so close," he said, laughingly. "I'm horribly
verminous--really I am!"

"As if I cared, Mike!" Margaret's words poured from her lips.
Ordinary as they were, they were a love-lyric to his ears.

"May I come with you?" he asked. "Where were you going to? I've so
much to say, so much to ask you!"

"I was going to Kew," she said, blushingly. "But I changed my mind."

Their eyes laughed as they met; he knew why she had changed her plans.

As they went up the station steps together, they were separated by a
number of people who were hurrying to catch the next train. When they
reached the open street, Michael made a signal to the driver of a
taxi-cab who was touting for passengers. He instantly drew up, jumped
from his seat and opened the door. Michael stood beside him, while
Margaret, obeying his eyes, stepped into the cab. She asked herself no
questions; she was only conscious of Michael's air of protection and
possession. After her lonely life in London, it almost made her cry.
It was the most delicious feeling she had ever experienced. She gave
herself up to it.

In Michael's presence her