As they turned into the quiet little garden, Michael said happily, "Why, Meg, what a dear little bit of France! How did you discover it?"

"My hospital's just across the square, and so is my bedroom. This is my sitting-room."

They found a quiet seat amongst the tombstones and sat down, a typical resort for a Tommy and his sweetheart. When they had been seated for a few moments, Michael said:

"It's a far cry to the Valley, and the little wooden hut, and the tombs of the Pharaohs, Meg."

Meg's eyes swept the garden-square; the laburnum-tree was shedding flakes of gold from its long ta.s.sels; they were falling like yellow rain in the spring breeze.

"Very, very far," she said as her eyes pointed to the smoke-begrimed tombstones. "Here the homes of the dead seem so forsaken, so humble.

Death has triumphed. In the Valley the dead were the eternal citizens, their homes were immortal. The dead have no abiding cities here, and even the palaces of the living will be crumbled into powder before Egypt's tombs show any signs of wear and decay."

Their thoughts having turned to Egypt, beautiful memories were recalled. Often broken sentences spoke volumes. Their time was very short, so short that Love devised a sort of shorthand conversation, which saved a thousand words.

And so for the rest of Margaret's precious hour they talked and dreamed and loved. There was so much to explain and so much to tell on both sides that, as Margaret laughingly said, they would both still be trying to get through their "bit" when Michael would have to leave for the Front.

Margaret just left herself time to hurry upstairs and change her uniform in her lodgings before she returned to the hospital. Michael waited for her in the square.

Before they left it, Margaret said, "I want you to shake hands with an old friend of mine. We'll have to pa.s.s her seat; she is always here.

She's a great character, an old actress--such a good sort."

As they pa.s.sed the shabby little woman, picking down old uniforms, Meg stopped. The woman looked up; her eyes brightened. The V.A.D. had a soldier with her--her lover, she could see that at a glance. He had brought an atmosphere of romance and pa.s.sion into the laburnum-lit garden.

Margaret introduced Michael, who was perfectly at his ease on such an occasion.

"My friend has arrived from the Front," she said. "We are going to be married the day after to-morrow . . ." she paused, ". . . that is to say, if I can get leave from my hospital for a week."

The woman looked up at the handsome couple. "Well, what a surprise!"

she said, as she stared hard at Michael. "Who would ever have thought that you were going to be married so soon? You never even told me you were engaged! You were very sly." She smiled happily.

Margaret laughed at her astonished expression. "I mustn't stop to tell you about it now," she said. "My time is up--I ought to be back in ten minutes to my cups and saucers. I just wanted you to shake hands with the man I'm going to marry."

The woman rose from her seat. As she did so, the old scarlet coat which she had been unpicking fell to her feet. She glanced at her hands, as much as to say, "They aren't very clean." Michael held out his, ignoring her hesitation, and gave her slender, artist's fingers a hearty shake and warm grasp.

The old actress's emotions were kindled; poverty had not dimmed the romance of her world.

"You'll do, sir," she said. "You'll do--you'll do for the sweetest and truest lady that lives in London town."

"We have your blessing, then?" he said gaily. "And you'll look after her when I'm at the Front--promise me that?"

"That I will, sir. But it's she who looks after me, and more than me."

She cast her eyes round the strange neighbourhood. "Looks after us and helps us in a hundred different ways." But she was speaking to Michael's retreating figure, for Margaret and her lover had left her.

As she watched his swinging strides, she murmured to herself, "He'll do for her--there's no mistaking his kind. He'll do for her." Her thoughts flew to familiar scenes. "There was something in his voice which reminded me of . . ." she recalled a celebrated actor. "He would make a fine Hamlet, a heavenborn Hamlet."

As they left the gardens Margaret said, "I have a feeling, Mike, that someone has been watching us ever since we came into the gardens--have you?"

"No," Michael said. "I hadn't any eyes or ears for anything but you."

Margaret smiled. "I felt it," she said, "rather than saw it. But, just this minute, didn't you see that dark figure?"

"No. Anyhow, let them watch--I don't care. Everybody's doing it."

His arm was round her.

Meg laughed, but not so whole-heartedly, and when she was saying good-bye to him at the hospital, she said, nervously and anxiously, "There's that black figure again--she's just pa.s.sed us. I saw her yesterday--she watched me go in after my hours on."

In spite of that fact, Margaret kissed her Tommy quite openly and flagrantly and in the broad daylight. She had promised to walk with him again on the next afternoon during her hours off, and to marry him the day after, if he got the licence and she got her leave.

When they had parted she said to herself, "Ours will be a war-wedding with a vengeance! When I went out for my two hours this afternoon I was absolutely free, not even engaged. Now," she blushed beautifully, "I am the bride-elect of a Tommy home on leave for a fortnight!"

After her day's work was done, she tried to find the busy matron. When she found her, she went straight to the point--it was Margaret's way.

"I want to get married the day after to-morrow," she said. "Could you get someone to take my place? Can you let me go?"

"For good, do you mean?" The matron was scarcely surprised. These sudden marriages were all a part of her day's work, the flower and the pa.s.sion of war.

Margaret's eyes brightened. "If you could get a temporary V.A.D., I think I'd like to come back when he's gone."

The older woman looked at her. "I think you'd better take a rest.

You've been at this dull job for a long time now. Don't you think you would be better for it?"

"Perhaps you are right," Margaret said. "I really haven't had time to consider details--I'd only got as far as wanting the week while he is at home, to get married in."

"Take it, by all means," the matron said. "I've a good long waiting-list on my books of voluntary helpers to choose from." She paused. "I don't mean that it will be easy to replace you, Miss Lampton--I wish all my workers gave me as little trouble as you have done."

"Oh, but it's been such ordinary work! Anyone could have done it as well."

"I've not been a hospital nurse for twenty years, Miss Lampton, for nothing. You can comfort yourself with the fact that a good worker always makes herself felt in whatever capacity she is in. No sentiment or romance finds its way into an area-pantry, though there's plenty of it in the wards." She smiled. "But in spite of that, your romance seems to have progressed. I wish you every happiness and the best of luck."

Luck nowadays, Margaret knew, meant but one thing--the life of her husband. "Thank you," she said. "I've loved being of use. I've really been grateful for the work--it's been what I needed."

"I think I can get a V.A.D. to take your place to-morrow morning--you will want all your time. If you will look in at your usual hour, you will hear if we have got one. But take my advice, Miss Lampton," the matron said, as she turned to leave the astonished Margaret, "if you are going to nurse, go in for a thorough hospital training. You'd make a good nurse . . ." she paused, ". . . that is to say, if you are free to do it when your husband is at the Front. Anyhow, think it over. It seems to me a pity that you should be content to remain a V.A.D. when you may be wanted for much more serious work later on."

When she had said good-bye, Margaret fled to the telephone. She had so much to do and arrange that she had to go from one thing to another as fast as she could. She rang up the rooms in Clarges Street where she knew that Hada.s.sah Ireton was going to stay. She ought to have arrived that afternoon. When at last she got on to the right number, she was answered by the husband of the landlady, an ex-butler, and an admirable _maitre de cuisine_.

"Has Mrs. Ireton arrived yet?" Margaret asked.

"Yes, she arrived at five o'clock. Who shall I say speaking?"

"Ask her if she can speak to Miss Lampton, please, for a few minutes.

Will you tell her that it is very urgent?"

The next minute Margaret heard Hada.s.sah's voice.

"Hallo! Miss Lampton, is that you?"

"Yes," Margaret said. "But, please, not Miss Lampton!"

"Well, Margaret--I always think of you as Margaret. How nice of you to ring me up and welcome me to London!"