Peter’s leave lasted four days; and Marcus Bramson haunted every hour of it.

They found him in the lounge when they came down to breakfast, still there—eager for a chat—when they had finished; they ran into him, asking for letters at the porter’s lodge, as they went out for their morning walk; he and Mrs. Bramson, an over-awed woman of the middle-fifties, met them on the Front; trailed them back to lunch; followed them to the Metropole for tea; sat next to them at dinner; pursued them to the Hippodrome; waited up for them late, prevented them going to bed early.

On Boxing Day, when Peter and Bromley returned to the hotel from their first official interview with Colonel Stark, eager to discuss the arrangements made—the letter Stark had written to Andrews, the letters they must write to Andrews, their interview with General Blacklock, Commanding Southdown Divisional Artillery—it was to find Patricia wedged between Marcus and his wife, virtually a prisoner.

Escape, except in the car—and it rained two days out of the four—was impossible.

Once even, the persistent old man waylaid Patricia alone; and she had to listen, for a long half hour, to his protestations: “You see, Mrs. Jameson, it’s like this. I know my cousin, Sam. He’s a waster. A good fellow, but no head for figures. And your husband had much better sell that business now. He’ll lose a bit; but he’ll lose more if he waits. Honestly, Mrs. Jameson, I’m not thinking only of myself—nor Sam neither. I like your husband. He’s a patriotic chap. And I’ll pay him a good price. I will reelly. Only he’s so obstinate. Won’t you use your influence with him, Mrs. Jameson....”

“The funny thing about Marcus,” laughed Peter when she told him of the interview, “is that he feels he’ll be doing me a kindness. Marcus isn’t a bad old boy at heart: but my word, he is a bore.”

Patricia, driving Londonwards through the rain, could not make up her mind whether the Bramsons had been a bore or a godsend. Falling in love with one’s own husband has its disadvantages!