soldiers against the women, there’s the women against the soldiers, there’s the Peace Party, there’s ’orses against croolty, there’s a Cabinet Minister every now an’ then; and now we’ve got these Conchies.  And, mind you, they haven’t raised our pay; no war wages in the police.  So far as I can see, there’s only one good result of the war—­the burglaries are off.  But there again, you wait a bit and see if we don’t have a prize crop of ’m, or my name’s not ’Arris.”

“You must have an awfully exciting life!” said Noel.

The policeman looked down at her sideways, without lowering his face, as only a policeman can, and said indulgently: 

“We’re used to it, you see; there’s no excitement in what you’re used to.  They find that in the trenches, I’m told.  Take our seamen—­there’s lots of ’em been blown up over and over again, and there they go and sign on again next day.  That’s where the Germans make their mistake!  England in war-time!  I think a lot, you know, on my go; you can’t ’elp it—­the mind will work—­an’ the more I think, the more I see the fightin’ spirit in the people.  We don’t make a fuss about it like Bill Kaser.  But you watch a little shopman, one o’ those fellows who’s had his house bombed; you watch the way he looks at the mess—­sort of disgusted.  You watch his face, and you see he’s got his teeth into it.  You watch one of our Tommies on ‘is crutches, with the sweat pourin’ off his forehead an’ ’is eyes all strainy, stumpin’ along—­that gives you an idea!  I pity these Peace fellows, reely I pity them; they don’t know what they’re up against.  I expect there’s times when you wish you was a man, don’t you, miss?  I’m sure there’s times when I feel I’d like to go in the trenches.  That’s the worst o’ my job; you can’t be a human bein’—­not in the full sense of the word.  You mustn’t let your passions rise, you mustn’t drink, you mustn’t talk; it’s a narrow walk o’ life.  Well, here you are, miss; your Square’s the next turnin’ to the right.  Good night and thank you for your conversation.”

Noel held out her hand.  “Good night!” she said.

The policeman took her hand with a queer, flattered embarrassment.

“Good night, miss,” he said again.  “I see you’ve got a trouble; and I’m sure I hope it’ll turn out for the best.”

Noel gave his huge hand a squeeze; her eyes had filled with tears, and she turned quickly up towards the Square, where a dark figure was coming towards her, in whom she recognised her father.  His face was worn and harassed; he walked irresolutely, like a man who has lost something.

“Nollie!” he said.  “Thank God!” In his voice was an infinite relief.  “My child, where have you been?”

“It’s all right, Daddy.  Cyril has just gone to the front.  I’ve been seeing him off from Charing Cross.”

Pierson slipped his arm round her.  They entered the house without speaking.... 3