They went behind the counter and in at a little door.  There was a fire in the grate of the small kitchen, and a kettle singing on the hob.  Julie sat down on a chair at the wooden table and looked round with satisfaction.

“Why, it’s all ready for us!” she exclaimed.  “Chocolate cakes, Suzanne, please, and hot buttered scones.  I’ll butter them, if you bring the scones.”

They came, and she went to the fire, splitting them open and spreading the butter lavishly.  “I love France,” she said.  “All laws are made to be broken, which is all that laws are good for, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” he said deliberately, glancing at the closed door, and bent and kissed her neck.  She looked up imperiously.  “Again,” she said; and he kissed her on the lips.  At that she jumped up with a quick return to the old manner:  “Peter!  For a parson you are the outside edge.  Go and sit down over there and recollect yourself.  To begin with, if we’re found, here, there’ll be a row, and if you’re caught kissing me, who knows what will happen?”

He obeyed gaily.  “Chaff away, Julie,” he said, “but I shan’t wear black buttons at the dinner.  You’ll have to look out that night.”

She put the scones on the table, and sat down.  “And if I don’t?” she queried.  Peter said nothing.  He had suddenly thought of something.  He looked at her, and for the first time she would not meet his eyes.

It was thought better on New Year’s Eve that they should go separately to Donovan’s camp, so Peter and Pennell set out for it alone.  By the canal Pennell left his friend to go and meet Elsie Harding, the third girl.  Peter went on alone, and found Donovan, giving some orders in the camp.  He stood with him till they saw the other four, who had met on the tow-path, coming in together.

“He’s a dark horse,” called Julie, almost before they had come up, “and so’s she.  Fancy Elsie being the third!  I didn’t know they knew each other.  We’re a Colonial party to-night, Jack—­all except Peter, that is, for Mr. Pennell is more Canadian than English.  We’ll teach them.  By the way, I can’t go on saying ‘Mr. Pennell’ all night.  What shall I call him, Elsie?”

Peter saw that the new-comer wore an Australian brooch, and caught the unmistakable but charming accent in her reply.  “He’s ‘Trevor’ to me, and he can be to you, if you like, Julie,” she said.

Tommy sighed audibly.  “They’re beginning early,” she said; “but I suppose the rest of us had better follow the general example—­eh, Peter?”

In the anteroom, where tea was ready, Peter saw that Elsie was likely to play Julie a good second.  She was tall, taller than Pennell himself, and dark skinned, with black hair and full red lips, and rather bigly built.  It appeared that her great gift was a set of double joints that allowed her to play the contortionist with great effect.  “You should just see her in tights,” said Julie.  “Trevor, why didn’t you say whom you were bringing, and I’d have made her put them on.  Then we could have had an exhibition, but, as it is, I suppose we can’t.”