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do battle.
    ‘Excuse me,’ she said to the Matron-in-Charge,’ but these are our seats.’
    The Matron glanced up. She scrutinized Hebe from her tawny curls to her sleek legs, and then she went on with her knitting.
    ‘We were sitting here,’ said Hebe. ‘We went to lunch, but we left our luggage. You had no right to put our luggage outside.’
    She looked round the compartment for support, with the confidence of a child nurtured in privilege. She encountered glances of indifference, of amusement, but not of sympathy.
    ‘You shouldn’t have let her,’ she told them angrily.
    At that a woman in the corner spoke up:
    ‘They paid for their seats, same as you ’ave.’
    ‘We got them first,’ said Hebe.
    She made a sudden pounce on the smallest orphan, jerked it up and was about to take its place when the Matron intervened. Smoothly and quietly she seized Hebe’s arm and thrust her back into the corridor. Her hand seemed to be made of iron; it did not feel as if it had any flesh on it at all. And just before she let go she gave Hebe a savage pinch. Then she shut the door on the Giffords, returned to her seat and took up her knitting.
    ‘I’ll go down and find the guard,’ said Caroline.
    ‘No,’ said Hebe, rubbing her pinched arm. ‘They got in without the guard. We must retake the fortress by our own strength. We must observe the rules of warfare.’
    ‘But Mathers tipped him ten shillings.’
    ‘I know. But Spartans would never call in the guard.’
    ‘I’ve got a water pistol,’ said Michael, trying to open his attaché case. ‘I can fill it in the lavatory.’
    ‘No. The local natives are unfriendly. We mustn’t use artillery. We must lay an ambush. We’ll wait. Sooner or later those orphans will have to go down the corridor. When they do, we’ll pop in and take our seats again.’
    ‘She’ll push us out.’
    ‘Not if we’re prepared. She took me by surprise. If she pinches, we’ll pinch back.’
    They waited and it was not long before one of the orphans, after a whispered colloquy with the Matron, rose and came into the corridor. Like lightning Hebe popped in and took the vacated seat. No notice was taken of her, and nothing was said until the absentee returned and stood timidly in the doorway. Then the woman leaned forward and addressed Hebe.
    ‘Will you kindly move from my daughter’s seat?’
    Daughter? thought Hebe. Then they aren’t orphansafter all. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I shan’t move. It’s mine, for I had it first. If you try to put me out again I shall have you committed for assault. My father is a judge and I know all about the law. You’ve given me a bruise already that I could show in court.’
    She pulled up her sleeve and showed the mark of the pinch.
    After a short pause her antagonist sat back and said:
    ‘I’m afraid, Blanche, that you’ll have to stand for a while, as this child does not know how to behave. Try to sit on a suitcase in the corridor. I want you to rest that poor back all you can.’
    ‘Yes, Mother,’ said Blanche.
    The poor back was an unexpected thrust, and erased the impression made by Hebe’s bruise. ‘Been ill, has she?’ asked the woman in the corner.
    ‘Yes,’ said the Enemy. ‘Only just up from a bad illness.’
    A murmur of sympathy went round the compartment. Hebe, blushing but defiant, asked if they all had poor backs. Opinion hardened against her.
    ‘Pity about some children,’ said the woman in the corner. ‘Think they own the earth because their father is a judge. Working people’s children would be ashamed to behave like that.’
    Blanche in the corridor sat down upon a suitcase and returned the stares of Caroline, Luke and Michael. They, too, were impressed by the poor back. Caroline offered her a sweet, which she refused with obvious reluctance.
    ‘Go on,’ said Luke. ‘We’ve got lots more. They’re marrons glacés. Off the ration.’
    Still she shook her head.
    ‘Don’t you like marrons glacés ? ’ asked