“Oh, mother,” she cried, “you remember Lieutenant Kramer, don’t you?  I’ve just been urging him to stay and have luncheon with us.  Do help me persuade him.”

“Of course I remember Mr. Kramer,” fibbed the matron cordially, all unaware of her daughter’s duplicity.  “Do stay, Mr. Kramer, and have luncheon with Jane.  I ordered luncheon for four, expecting to be home, and now I’ve been called away, but your aunt is there to chaperone you.  It spoils the servants so to prepare meals and have no one to eat them, to say nothing of displeasing Mr. Hoover.  It’s really your duty—­your duty as a patriot—­to stay and prevent a food-waste.”

“I’ve just been trying to explain to your daughter that I was taking Mr. Hoff to luncheon with me.  Here he is now.”

Mrs. Strong’s eyes swept the tall figure approaching appraisingly and apparently was pleased with his aspect.  As Mr. Hoff was presented she hastened to include him in the invitation to luncheon.

“Have pity on a poor girl doomed to eat a lonely luncheon by her parent’s neglect,” urged Jane.  “Really, you must come, both of you.  Nice men to talk to are so scarce in these war times that I have no intention of letting you escape.”

“I’m in Kramer’s hands,” said Frederic Hoff gallantly, “but if he takes me to some wretched hotel instead of accepting such a charming invitation as this, my opinion of him as a host will be shattered.”

“But,” struggled Kramer, realizing that it must be a case of mistaken identity and sure now that he never had met either Jane or her mother before, “we have some business to talk over.”

“Business always can wait a fair lady’s pleasure,” said Hoff.  “Is this ruthless war making you navy men ungallant?”

With a mock gesture of surrender, and as a matter of fact, not at all averse to pursuing the adventure further, Lieutenant Kramer permitted Jane to lead the way to the Strong apartment.

Soon, with the familiarity of youth and high spirits, the three of them were merrily chatting on the weather, the war, the theater and all manner of things.  Jane, in the midst of the conversation, could not help noting that Hoff had seated himself in a chair by the window where he seemed to be keeping a vigilant eye on the ships that could be seen from there.  Even at the luncheon table he got up once and walked to the window to look out, making some clumsy excuse about the beautiful view.

Determined to press the opportunity, Jane endeavored to turn the conversation into personal channels.

“You are an American,” she said turning to Hoff, “are you not?  I’m surprised that you are not in uniform, too.”

“A man does not necessarily need to be in uniform to be serving his government,” he replied.  “Perhaps I am doing something more important.”

“But you are an American, aren’t you?” she persisted almost impudently, driven on by her eagerness to learn all she possibly could about him.