He eyed her with an amused twinkle, picturing her effect on the troops.

“I expect you’ll have a royal time.” Then he gave her a closer look. “Do you know, I think I’ve seen you before somewhere.”

She gave him one of her shyest glances.

“I don’t think so. I expect actually it’s that I’m very ordinary looking.”

What a nice, unaffected little thing she was, Richard thought. Good to meet a girl with a face like that who did not know she was pretty. On the word pretty he studied her more closely. My word, she was pretty! Quite startling, really. Of course she was not his type; he did not care for that chocolate-box sort of face. All the same, surely she was outstanding. Of course he had been abroad and got his eye out a bit, but she did seem unusually lush. He was certain he had seen her before, but he could not place where, and had a feeling, anyway, it had only been a case of seeing and not knowing. Most likely in a bus or train. He certainly was not going to spoil the little creature by telling her she was pretty if she did not know it. That would come soon enough.

“We sat opposite each other somewhere, I expect. Did you lose everything when you were bombed?”

Sheila tried to remember stories she had read, but she only skimmed newspapers.

“Nearly. I was”—suddenly the right phrase came to her “pinned under the wreck.”

“Good Lord! Were you injured?”

“I was shocked, but I hadn’t much time to think of myself; you see, I had my mother, she needed help so much more than I did.”

“Was she injured?”

“I thought she was dead. There she lay, her face as white as a sheet.”

“Didn’t the lights go?”

Sheila never batted an eyelash.

“I still held my torch. And oh, I forgot, actually one of my arms was free.”

“What had happened to your mother?”

“Concussion. Presently, after what seemed like hours, I heard hammering, and then the rescue men came. They tried to release me, but of course I said, ‘No, take Mother first.’”

“What a time you women have had! Is your mother all right now?”

“Yes, that’s why I’m able to leave her.” She paused to think how she was to reconcile her original story, that she was being sent to work on a canteen, with her present role of war heroine. “That’s one reason why I was crying. I do want to work for the country, of course, but I feel Mother needs me.”

“I dare say it will pull her together to manage on her own,” he suggested consolingly. “I hope it won’t be too much for you though. I mean, what you’ve been through is a pretty good shock. Where are you living now?”