glances and words hinting at
tenderness, sighs and half-spoken appeals were all made to serve their
obvious purpose. If Wingate's responses were a little artificial, he
still made no attempt to hurry through the meal. He seemed perfectly
content to consider the attractions which his companion heaped into the
shop window of her being. Once she almost amused him, and he found
himself for a few seconds contemplating her with some glimmering of the
thought which she was so anxious to instil into his brain. After all, a
companion like this was soothing, made no demands, filled a pleasant
enough place in the broken ways of life, provided one had no other
aspirations. And then the thought passed from him,--forever.

They took their coffee and liqueurs in the foyer. Flossie, perfectly
satisfied with her companion and her progress with him, chattered gaily
away with scarcely a pause, and Wingate, after his first resentment at
her coming had passed, found a certain relief in sitting and listening to
her equable flow of nonsense. By and by, however, she came very near
annoying him.

"You know Lady Dredlinton very well, don't you Mr. Wingate?" she asked, a
little abruptly.

His answer was marked with a warning note of stiffness.

"Lady Dredlinton," he repeated. "I know her, certainly. I was at her
hospital at Etaples."

"Every one says that she is charming," the young lady continued, with a
side glance at him. "Pity she can't keep that wicked husband of hers a
little more under control. You know, Mr. Wingate," she confided, "he has
asked me to supper four or five times but I have never cared about going
with him quite alone. A girl has to be so careful in my position. Don't
you agree with me?"

"I suppose so," he answered indifferently.

"Dear old 'Dredful,' as Lord Fanleighton used to call him, can be very
amusing sometimes, but he hasn't the best reputation, and of course he's
terrible when he's drunk, as he was last night. I do so like nice men,"
she sighed, "and there are scarcely any left. One seems to have lost all
one's friends in the war," she went on reminiscently, her large blue eyes
veiled with sadness. "It makes one feel very lonely sometimes."

Wingate scarcely heard her. His eyes were fixed upon the two men walking
up the carpeted way from the restaurant. One was Peter Phipps, the other
Lord Dredlinton. Flossie Lane, seeking to discover the cause of her
companion's abstraction, glanced in the same direction a