else but
yourselves!). It seems mean to see you and not say so, but for the Lord's
sake don't think it'll go further, or that I reproach you. I've been
there myself, old bird, and in any case I don't worry about other
people's shows. But I want to tell you a bit of news--Tommy Raynard and I
have fixed it up. I know you'll congratulate me. She's topping, and just
the girl for me--no end wiser than I, and as jolly as anyone, really. I
don't know how you and Julie are coming out of it, and I won't guess, for
it's a dreadful war; but maybe you'll be able to sympathise with me at
having to leave _my_ girl in France! However, I'm off back to-morrow, a
day before you. If you hadn't run off to Paris, you'd have known. My
leave order was from Havre.

"Well, cheerio. See you before long. And just one word, my boy, from a
fellow who has seen a bit more than you (if you'll forgive me): remember,
_Julie'll know best_.

"Yours, ever,
"JACK DONOVAN."

Peter frowned over his letter, and then smiled, and then frowned again.
He was still at it when he heard Julie's footstep outside, and he thrust
the envelope quickly into his pocket, thinking rapidly. He did not in the
least understand what the other meant, especially by the last sentence,
and he wanted to consider it before showing Julie. Also, he wondered
if it was meant to be shown to Julie at all. He thought not; probably
Donovan was absolutely as good as his word, and would not even mention
anything to Tommy. But he thought no more, for Julie was on him.

"Peter, it's started to rain! I knew it would. Why does it always rain on
Sundays in London? Probably the heavens themselves weep at the sight of
so gloomy a city. However, I don't care a damn! I've made up my mind what
we're going to do. We shall sit in front of the fire all the morning,
and you shall read to me. Will you?"

"Anything you like, my darling," he said; "and we couldn't spend a better
morning. But bacon and eggs first, eh? No, fish first, I mean. But pour
out a cup of tea at once, for Heaven's sake. _I_ haven't had a drop this
morning."

"Poor old thing! No wonder you're a bit off colour. No early tea after
that champagne last night! But, oh, Peter, wasn't _Carminetta_ a dream?"

Breakfast over, Peter sat in a chair and bent over her. "What do you want
me to read, Julie darling?" he demanded.

She considered. "_Not_ a magazine, _not La Vie Parisienne_, though we
might perhaps look at the pictures part of th