“You’re much too nice to live alone,” she ventured.

“Well, you see, your sex has decreed that I shall up to the present,” he remarked.  “Here come the cocktails.  I hope that yours won’t be too dry.  Where will you lunch—­the restaurant or the grillroom?”

“The grillroom,” she decided, after a moment’s reflection.  “We can go and sit out in the foyer afterwards and have our coffee.”

The cocktails and Wingate’s choice of a table were alike approved.  Wingate himself, as soon as he had recovered from the bland assurance with which his guest had manufactured her invitation, devoted himself with a somewhat hard light in his eyes to the task of entertaining her.  The whole gamut of her attractions was let loose for his benefit.  He represented to her the one desirable thing, difficult of attainment, perhaps, but worth the effort.  Soft 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.”