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going’s good.’
    â€˜Perhaps I ought to have stayed down there. A man I met the other day wrote and urged me to, but the letter only reached mejust as I was leaving because it was forwarded from here.’
    â€˜Who is he? Anybody who’s really in the know, or just some chap who is anxious for his lovely’s safety?’
    â€˜He’s a civil servant, I think; he told me that he was after some post to do with the Government.’
    â€˜Then he probably had good reasons for his warning. Take his tip, Ann—and mine. Quit the party…. God! what’s that?’ Gregory Sallust had suddenly caught sight of the monstrosity on the bookcase.
    â€˜A masterpiece by Mrs. Pomfret’s
protég
é Choo-Se-Foo,’ Ann chuckled. ‘The Infant Jesus, I believe.’
    â€˜How utterly blasphemous!’
    â€˜Dear me,’ she mocked him. ‘I thought you were an atheist.’
    He turned on her swiftly. ‘Perhaps I am—but Christ was a great man—I hate to see Him mocked at by these filthy pseudo artists.’
    A new sound came to them above the casual noises of the street. The rhythmic tramp … tramp … tramp of marching men. They both moved instinctively to the open window. As the head of the column came level, the door opened and Rudd joined them:
    â€˜Wonder where the boys are off to,’ he remarked thoughtfully; ‘we don’t often see ’em darn this way.’
    â€˜They are
en route
for the East End, I expect,’ Gregory told him, ‘and they are probably taking the side streets in order to avoid comment as far as possible.’
    It was a full battalion in war equipment. Steel helmets—packs—gas-masks—overcoats, bandoliers and rifles. Company after company swung by. The dust on their boots showed they had come in from the country and evidently their Colonel did not consider that they were far enough into the heart of London to call them to attention.
    They marched at ease, their rifles slung or carried at the trail, many of them smoking, chewing sweets, or talking.
    â€˜They might give us a bit of a song,’ said Rudd.
    â€˜That’s just the trouble,’ murmured Gregory Sallust, ‘they are not singing—and that’s a damn bad sign.’

3
‘Eat, Drink, and be Merry, for …’
    The sound of marching feet died away in the distance, and they drew away from the window.
    â€˜I wonder whether Clarkson’s is still open?’ Gregory remarked as Rudd left them.
    â€˜Why?’ asked Ann.
    â€˜Want to get a fancy dress for a party,’ he answered absently.
    Her tawny eyes were filled with sudden mirth. ‘How like you, Gregory, to go fiddling while Rome burns.’
    â€˜You, I suppose, prefer to pray?’ he countered in quick derision.
    â€˜No, as a matter of fact I’m going out myself this evening.’
    â€˜Good for you—“business as usual”, eh? and “Keep the home fires burning”. All the old gags will come out again—you see! … Got a new boyfriend?’
    â€˜I shouldn’t be going out alone, should I?’
    â€˜No,’ he eyed her critically, ‘by some amazing stroke of good fortune for you the proportion of proteins, hormones and vitamins which make up your body vary very slightly from the proportions allotted to Griselda—owing to the result of the blend you don’t have to. All the same, what I said to her goes for you too and, if you’ve got a man, you’ll be doubly wise in these days to make it worth his while to stick to you.’
    â€˜Thanks, but the proportions vary in men as well, and so thank goodness they’re not all like you. The decent kind don’t need to have it made worth their while to stick to a woman if they’re in love with her.’
    He gave a sudden shout of laughter. ‘God! what fun you are, Ann—I love to see you get all romantic, I’ve a good mind