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tried to imitate them as “God Save the King” was played. Then the gathering of coats and bags, and they were out in the car-park by the chilly little two-seater.
    Chambers said: “I’m not quite sure how it’s going to go tonight. It’s been rather bad recently.”
    The girl said: “It’ll go if you want it to.”
    They got into it. “I expect you’re right,” the pilot said. “If it stops we’ll just have to sit and wish, and wait for it to start again.”
    She said: “I don’t believe that it’ld ever start that way. The only way to make it start would be to get out and walk home.”
    He shook his head. “If it should stop—and mind you, I don’t suppose it will—we’d better try my way first.”
    The girl said: “We’ll try yours for ten minutes. After that, we try mine.”
    “All right.”
    The engine stopped beneath the trees a quarter of a mile away.
    Twenty miles out to sea a tired sub-lieutenant shoved his way into the cramped, dimly lit listening-cabin. The man with the head-phones raised his head. “Nothing yet, sir,” he said in a low tone, half whispering. “Single screw steamer bearing east-north-east—that’s all so far.”
    The officer put on the head-phones. “Give you a spell.”
    They changed places and the listener went out: in the dim light the officer sat down before the instruments and turned the condenser slowly, searching round the dial. Outside in the utter darkness the waves lapped against the hull: a small tinkling came from a loose shovel in the engine-room each time the drifter rolled. These mingled with the hissing in the head-phones, and a rhythmic beat at one position of the condenser knob that was the steamer, far away. There was no other sound.
    In the imagination of the sub-lieutenant there came a vivid picture of a German listener in a similar, dim cabin curved to the shape of the hull, slowly turning a similar condenser knob upon a similar apparatus.
    “Bloody thing must know we’re here,” the tired officer muttered to himself. “He’ll probably stay where he is until tomorrow night….”
    In the dark privacy of the little car parked snugly underneath the trees, Chambers said softly:
    “The girl told me it was kissproof in the shop. Shall I strike a match and see?”
    The girl nestled closer into his arms. “No. You do talk silly.”
    A thought struck the pilot. “What about yours?”
    “My what?”
    “Your lipstick. I’ve got to go back to the mess before I can wash my face.”
    She rippled with laughter against his heavy overcoat. “Mine comes off like anything. You’ll look a perfect sight. All the other officers will know what you’ve been doing.”
    “I’ll get cashiered.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “Sacked.”
    She said: “I’ll wipe it off for you in a minute, when you take me home.”
    “In half an hour.”
    “In a minute,” she said firmly.
    “Then we’ve not got much time to waste.”
    Presently she said: “It’s been a lovely evening, Mr. Chambers. I have enjoyed it, ever so.”
    The pilot said: “My friends all call me Jerry.”
    “I can’t call you that. I’ll call you Roddy.”
    “Jerry.”
    “All right then. Now go on and take me home.”
    “Jerry?”
    She laughed softly. “Go on and take me home, Jerry.”
    “When are you coming out with me again?”
    “You haven’t asked me yet.”
    “Tomorrow?”
    “I can’t tomorrow. Uncle Ernest, in the
Iron Duke—
he’s coming to see us tomorrow night, and I said I’d be home early. His ship came in yesterday. He’s Daddy’s brother.”
    “What about Thursday?”
    “All right.” She wriggled erect in the seat beside him. “Let me clean your face.”
    “Better do that when I get you home. It might get dirty again.”
    The worn engine of the little car came noisily to life and they drove through the black, windy streets to the furniture shop that was her home. There the engine came to rest, and the little car stood against the kerb, motionless and