Peter had; there were few people who hadn’t, seeing that the same officers lived in most of the coast towns in England that year; but it is a pity to damp enthusiasm.  He said he had heard a little.

“Walked in and out cool as you please.  When they were drowned and picked up at sea, they had bills and theatre tickets in their pockets, and a letter acknowledging the booking of rooms for the next week!  Fact.  Had it from the fellow who got ’em.  And I ask you, what is there to prevent it?  You come here:  ‘Will you write your name and regiment, please.’  You write the damned thing—­any old thing, in fact—­and what happens?  Nothing.  They don’t refer to them.  In France the lists go to a central bureau every day, but here—­Lord bless you, the Kaiser himself might put up anywhere if he shaved his moustache!”

Peter heard him, well content.  He offered a cigarette, feeling warmly disposed towards the world at large.  The naval officer took it.  “Thanks,” he said.  “You in town for long?”

“No,” said Peter—­“a week end.  I’ve only just happened.  What’s worth seeing?”

“First and last all the way, Carminetta.  It’s a dream.  Wonderful.  By Gad, I don’t know how that girl does it!  Then I’d try Zigzag—­oh! and go to You Never Know, You Know, at the Cri.  Absolutely toppin’.  A perfect scream all through.  The thing at Daly’s’ good too; but all the shows are good, though, I reckon.  Lumme, you wouldn’t think the war was on, ’cept they all touch it a bit! The Better ’Ole I like, but you mightn’t, knowing the real thing.  But don’t miss Carminetta if you have to stand all day for a seat in the gods.  Well, I must be going.  Damned rough luck, but no help for it.  Let’s have a last spot, eh?”

Peter agreed, and the drinks were ordered.  “Chin-chin,” said his acquaintance.  “And here’s to old London town, and the Good Lord let me see it again.  It’s less than even chances,” he added reflectively.

“Here’s luck,” said Peter; then, for he couldn’t help it:  “It’s you chaps, by God, that are winning this war!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said the other, rising.  “We get more leave than you fellows, and I’d sooner be on my tramp than in the trenches.  The sea’s good and clean to die in, anyway.  Cheerio.”

Peter followed him out in a few minutes, and set about his shopping.  He found a florist’s in Regent Street and bought lavishly.  The girl smiled at him, and suggested this and that.  “Having a dinner somewhere to-night?” she queried.  “But I have no violets.”

“Got my girl comin’ up,” said Peter expansively; “that’s why there must be violets.  See if you can get me some and send them over, will you?” he asked, naming his hotel.  She promised to do her best, and he departed.

He went into a chocolate shop.  “Got some really decent chocolates?” he demanded.

The girl smiled and dived under the counter.  “These are the best,” she said, holding out a shovelful for Peter to taste.  He tried one.  “They’ll do,” he said.  “Give me a couple of pounds, in a pretty box if you’ve got one.”