Miss Stokes not very far from him. There she was, in her khaki and her
felt hat, as usual; he pretended not to see her. She was laughing at the
clown; she also pretended not to see him. It was a blow to him, and it
made him angry. He would not even mention it to Albert. Least said,
soonest mended. He liked to believe she had not seen him. But he knew,
fatally, that she had.

When they came out it was nearly eleven o'clock; a lovely night, with a
moon and tall, dark, noble trees: a magnificent May night. Joe and Albert
laughed and chaffed with the boys. Joe looked round frequently to see if
he were safe from Miss Stokes. It seemed so.

But there were six miles to walk home. At last the two soldiers set off,
swinging their canes. The road was white between tall hedges, other
stragglers were passing out of the town towards the villages; the air was
full of pleased excitement.

They were drawing near to the village when they saw a dark figure ahead.
Joe's heart sank with pure fear. It was a figure wheeling a bicycle; a
land girl; Miss Stokes. Albert was ready with his nonsense. Miss Stokes
had a puncture.

'Let me wheel the rattler,' said Albert.

'Thank you,' said Miss Stokes. 'You _are_ kind.'

'Oh, I'd be kinder than that, if you'd show me how,' said Albert.

'Are you sure?' said Miss Stokes.