Peter sighed.  “Little girl,” he said sadly, hardly knowing that he spoke.  “I cannot save myself:  how can I save you?”

“Pouf!” she cried.  “Save!  What do you mean?” She drew herself up with an absurd gesture.  “You think me a bad girl?  No, I am not bad; I go to church.  Le bon Dieu made us as we are; it is necessaire.”

They stood before each other, a strange pair, the product of a strange age.  God knows what the angels made of it.  But at any rate Peter was honest.  He thought of Julie, and he would not cast a stone.

There came a light knock at the door.  The girl disregarded it, and ran to him.  “You will come again?” she said in low tones.  “Promise me that you will!  I will not ask you for anything; you can do as you please; but come again!  Do come again!”

Peter passed his hand over her hair.  “I will come if I can,” he said; “but the Lord knows why.”

The knock came again, a little louder.  The girl smiled and held her face up.  “Kiss me,” she demanded.

He complied, and she darted away, fumbling with her dress.  “I come,” she called, and opened the door.  Lucienne and Pennell came in, and the two men exchanged glances.  Then Pennell looked away.  Lucienne glanced at them and shrugged her shoulders.  “Come, Graham,” said Pennell; “let’s get out!  Good-bye, you two.”

The pair of them went down and out in silence.  No one had seen them come, and there was no one to see them go.  Peter glanced at the number and made a mental note of it, and they set off down the street.

Presently Pennell laughed, “I played you a dirty trick, Graham,” he said, “I’m sorry.”

“You needn’t be,” said Peter; “I’m very glad I went.”

“Why?” said Pennell curiously, glancing sideways at him.  “You are a queer fellow, Graham.”  But there was a note of relief in his tone.

Peter said nothing, but walked on.  “Where next?” demanded Pennell.

“It looks as if you are directing this outfit,” said Peter; “I’m in your hands.”

“All right,” said Pennell; “I know.”

They took a street running parallel to the docks, and entered an American bar.  Peter glanced round curiously.  “I’ve never been here before,” he said.

“Probably not,” said Pennell.  “It’s not much at this time of the year, but jolly cool in the summer.  And you can get first-class cocktails.  I want something now; what’s yours?”

“I’ll leave it to you,” said Peter.

He sat down at a little table rather in the corner and lit a cigarette.  The place was well lighted, and by means of mirrors, coloured-glass ornaments, paper decorations, and a few palms, it looked in its own way smart.  Two or three officers were drinking at the bar, sitting on high stools, and Pennell went up to give his order.  He brought two glasses to Peter’s table and sat down.  “What fools we are, padre!” he said.  “I sometimes think that the man who gets simply and definitely