“Hullo!” said a girl’s voice; “fancy finding you here!” He turned quickly and blushed.  Julie laughed merrily.

“Caught out,” she said, “Tell me what you’re buying, and for whom.  A blouse, a camisole, or worse?”

“I’m not buying,” said Peter, recovering his ease.  “We’re just strolling round, and that girl insists that my friend the Australian yonder should buy a nightie for his fiancee.  He says he hasn’t one, so she is persuading him that he can easily pick one up.  What do you think?”

She glanced over at the little group.  “Easier than some people I know, I should think,” she said, smiling, taking in his six feet of bronzed manhood.  “But it’s no use your buying it.  I wear pyjamas, silk, and I prefer Venns’.”

“I’ll remember,” said Peter.  “By the way, I’m coming to tea again to-morrow.”

“That will make three times this week,” she said.  “But I suppose you will go round the ward first.”  Then quickly, for Peter looked slightly unhappy:  “Next week I’ve a whole day off.”

“No?” he said eagerly “Oh, do let’s fix something up.  Will you come out somewhere?”

Her eyes roved across to Pennell, who was bearing down upon them.  “We’ll fix it up to-morrow,” she said.  “Bring Donovan, and I’ll get Tommy.  And now introduce me nicely.”

He did so, and she talked for a few minutes, and then went off to join some friends, who had moved on to another department.  “By Jove,” said Pennell, “that’s some girl!  I see now why you are so keen on the hospital, old dear.  Wish I were a padre.”

“I shall be padre in ...” began Alex, but Peter cut him short.

“Oh, Lord,” he said, “I’m tired of that!  Come on out of it, and let’s get a refresher somewhere.  What’s the club like here?”

“Club’s no good,” said Pennell.  “Let’s go to Travalini’s and introduce the padre.  He’s not been there yet.”

“I thought everyone knew it,” said the other Australian—­rather contemptuously, Peter thought.  What with one thing and another, he felt suddenly that he’d like to go.  He remembered how nearly he had gone there in other company.  “Come on, then,” he said, and led the way out.

There was nothing in Travalini’s to distinguish it from many other such places—­indeed, to distinguish it from the restaurant in which Peter, Donovan, and the girls had dined ten days or so before, except that it was bigger, more garish, more expensive, and, consequently, more British in patronage.  The restaurant was, however, separated more completely from the drinking-lounge, in which, among palms, a string-band played.  There was an hotel above besides, and that helped business, but one could come and go innocently enough, for all that there was “anything a gentleman wants,” as the headwaiter, who talked English, called himself a Belgian, and had probably migrated from over the Rhine, said.  Everybody, indeed, visited the place now and again.  Peter and his friends went in between the evergreen shrubs in their pots, and through the great glass swing-door, with every assurance.  The place seemed fairly full.  There was a subdued hum of talk and clink of glasses; waiters hurried to and fro; the band was tuning up.  British uniforms predominated, but there were many foreign officers and a few civilians.  There were perhaps a couple of dozen girls scattered about the place besides.