Granet turned at once and offered his hand to the other man.  Only Geraldine Conyers, who was a young woman given to noticing things, and who had also reasons of her own for being interested, observed the rather peculiar scrutiny with which each regarded the other.  Something which might almost have been a challenge seemed to pass from one to the other.

“I may not have met you personally,” Granet admitted, “but if you are the Surgeon-Major Thomson who has been doing such great things with the Field Hospitals at the front, then like nearly every poor crock out there I owe you a peculiar debt of gratitude.  You are the man I mean, aren’t you?” the young soldier concluded cordially.

Major Thomson bowed, and a moment later they all made their way along the corridor, across the restaurant, searched for their names on the cards and took their places at the table which had been reserved for them.  Lady Anselman glanced around with the scrutinising air of the professional hostess, to see that her guests were properly seated before she devoted herself to the Cabinet Minister.  She had a word or two to say to nearly every one of them.

“I have put you next Miss Conyers, Ronnie,” she remarked, “because we give all the good things to our men when they come home from the war.  And I have put you next Olive, Ralph,” she went on, turning to the sailor, “because I hear you are expecting to get your ship to-day or to-morrow, so you, too, have to be spoiled a little.  As a general rule I don’t approve of putting engaged people together, it concentrates conversation so.  And, Lord Romsey,” she added, turning to her neighbour, “please don’t imagine for a moment that I am going to break my promise.  We are going to talk about everything in the world except the war.  I know quite well that if Ronnie has had any particularly thrilling experiences, he won’t tell us about them, and I also know that your brain is packed full of secrets which nothing in the world would induce you to divulge.  We are going to try and persuade Madame to tell us about her new play,” she concluded, smiling at the French actress, “and there are so many of my friends on the French stage whom I must hear about.”

Lord Romsey commenced his luncheon with an air of relief.  He was a man of little more than middle-age, powerfully built, inclined to be sombre, with features of a legal type, heavily jawed.  “Always tactful, dear hostess,” he murmured.  “As a matter of fact, nothing but the circumstance that it was your invitation and that Madame Selarne was to be present, brought me here to-day.  It is so hard to avoid speaking of the great things, and for a man in my position,” he added, dropping his voice a little, “so difficult to say anything worth listening to about them, without at any rate the semblance of indiscretion.”

“We all appreciate that,” Lady Anselman assured him sympathetically.  “Madame Selarne has promised to give us an outline of the new play which she is producing in Manchester.”