“It depends what you order,” said the girl, rather sharply.  Then, after a glance at them both:  “See, if you’ll have what I say, I’ll get you through quick.  I know what’s on easiest.  Do you mind?”

“The very thing,” said Peter; “and send the wine-man over on your way, will you?  How will that do?” he added to Julie.

“I’ll risk everything to-night, Peter, except your smiling at the waitress,” she said.  “But I must have that champagne.  There’s something about champagne that inspires confidence.  When a man gives you the gold bottle you know that he is really serious, or as serious as he can be, which isn’t saying much for most men.  And not half a bottle; I’ve had half-bottles heaps of times at tete-a-tete dinners.  It always means indecision, which is a beastly thing in anyone, and especially in a man.  It’s insulting, for one thing....  Oh, Peter, do look at that girl over there.  Do you suppose she has anything on underneath?  I suppose I couldn’t ask her, but you might, you know, if you put on that smile of yours.  Do walk over, beg her pardon, and say very nicely:  ’Excuse me, but I’m a chaplain, and it’s my business to know these things.  I see you’ve no stays on, but have you a bathing costume?’”

“Julie, do be quiet; someone will hear you.  You must remember we’re in England, and that you’re talking English.”

“I don’t care a damn if they do, Peter!  Oh, here’s the champagne, at any rate.  Oh, and some soup.  Well, that’s something.”

“I’ve got the fish coming,” said the girl, “if you can be ready at once.”

Julie seized her spoon.  “I suppose I mustn’t drink it?” she said.  “I don’t see why I shouldn’t, as a matter of fact, but it might reflect on you, Peter, and you’re looking so immaculate to-night.  By the way, you’ve never had that manicure.  Do send a note for the girl.  I’d hide in the bathroom.  I’d love to hear you.  Peter, if I only thought you would do it, I’d like it better than the play.  What is the play, by the way? Zigzag? Oh, Zigzag” (She mimicked in a French accent.) “Well, it will be all too sadly true if I leave you to that bottle of fizz all by yourself.  Give me another glass, please.”

“What about you?” demanded Peter.  “If you’re like this now, Heaven knows what you’ll be by the time you’ve had half of this.”

“Peter, you’re an ignoramus.  Girls like me never take too much.  We began early for one thing, and we’re used to it.  For another, the more a girl talks, the soberer she is.  She talks because she’s thinking, and because she doesn’t want the man to talk.  Now, if you talked to-night, I don’t know what you might not say.  You’d probably be enormously sentimental, and I hate sentimental people.  I do, really.  Sentiment is wishy-washy, isn’t it?  I always associate it with comedians on the stage.  Look over there.  Do you see that girl in the big droopy hat and the thin hands?  And the boy—­one must say ‘boy,’ I suppose?  He’s