xactly such a fib as the Virgin herself would have told in a
quandary of charity. And when a taxi came round the corner, she knew
that the Virgin disguised as a taxi-driver was steering it, and she
hailed it with a firm and yet loving gesture.

The taxi stopped. She opened the door, and in her sombre mantle and
bright trailing frock and glinting, pale shoes she got in, and the
military Father Christmas with much difficulty and jingling and
clinking insinuated himself after her into the vehicle, and banged to
the door. And at the same moment one of the soldiers from the Hostel
ran up:

"Here, mate!... What do you want to take his money from him for, you
damned w----?"

But the taxi drove off. Christine had not understood. And had she
understood, she would not have cared. She had a divine mission; she
was in bliss.

"You did not seem surprised to meet me," she said, taking Edgar's
rough hand.

"No."

"Had you called out my name--'Christine'?"

"No."

"You are sure?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps you were thinking of me? I was thinking of you."

"Perhaps. I don't know. But I'm never surprised."

"You must be very tired?"

"Yes."

"But why are you like that? All these things? You are not an officer
now."

"No. I had to resign my commission--just after I saw you." He paused,
and added drily: "Whisky." His deep rich voice filled the taxi with
the resigned philosophy of fatalism.

"And then?"

"Of course I joined up again at once," he said casually. "I soon got
out to the Front. Now I'm on leave. That's mere luck."

She burst into tears. She was so touched by his curt story, and by the
grotesquerie of his appearance in the faint light from the exterior
lamp which lit the dial of the taximeter, that she lost control of
herself. And the man gave a sob, or possibly it was only a gulp to
hide a sob. And she leaned against him in her thin garments. And he
clinked and jingled, and his breath smelt of beer.

Chapter 25

THE RING

The flat was in darkness, except for the little lamp by the bedside.
The soldier lay asleep in his flannel shirt in the wide bed, and
Christine lay awake next him. His clothes were heaped on a chair.
His eighty pounds' weight of kit were deposited in a corner of the
drawing-room. On the table in the drawing-room were the remains of a
meal. Christine was thinking, carelessly and without apprehension, of
what she should say to G.J. She would tell him that she had suddenly
felt unwe