“I was looking for you,” he said simply.

Then he glanced over my head and his hand shot up in a manner of salute; I turned to see why.  I was in front of the portrait of Lord Kitchener.

“Did you know him, General Cochrane?” I asked.

“Know him?” he demanded, and the gray glance plunged out at me from under the thick lashes.

“Don’t do it,” I pleaded, putting my hands over my eyes.  “When you look at me so it’s—­bombs and bullets.”  The look softened, but the lean, wrinkled face did not smile.

“You asked if I knew Kitchener,” he stated.

I spoke haltingly.  “I didn’t know.  Ought I to have known?”

General Cochrane gazed down, all at once dreamy, as if he looked through me at something miles and aeons away.

“No,” he said.  “There’s no reason why you should.  You have an uncommon knowledge of events of that time, an astonishing knowledge for a young thing, so that I forget you can’t know—­all of it.”  He stopped, as if considering.  “It is because I am old that I have fancies,” he went on slowly.  “And you have understanding eyes.  I have had a fancy this evening that you and I were meant to be friends; that a similarity of interests, a—­a likeness—­oh, hang it all!” burst out the General like a college boy.  “I never could talk except straight and hot.  I mean I’ve a feeling of a bond between us—­you’ll think me most presuming—­”

I interrupted, breathless.  “It’s so,” I whispered.  “I felt it, only I’d not have dared—­” and I choked.

Old General Cochrane frowned thoughtfully.  “Curious,” was what he said.  “It’s psychology of course, but I’m hanged if I know the explanation.  However, since it’s so, my child, I’m glad.  A man as old as I makes few new friends.  And a beautiful young woman—­with a brain—­and charm—­and innocent eyes—­and French clothes!”

One may guess if I tried to stop this description.  I could have listened all night.  With that: 

“‘Did I know Kitchener!’ the child asked,” reflected the General, and threw back his splendid head and laughed.  I stared up, my heart pumping.  Then, “Well, rather.  Why, little Miss Fox—­” and he stopped.  “I’ve a mind to tell the child a fairy-story,” he said.  “A true fairy-story which is so extraordinary that few have been found to believe it, even of those who saw it happen.”

He halted again.

“Tell me!”

General Coehrane looked about the roomful of people and tossed out his hand.  “In this mob?” he objected.  “It’s too long a story in any case.  But why shouldn’t you and I have a seance, to let a garrulous old fellow talk about his youth?” he demanded in his lordly way.  “Why not come out on the river in my boat?  They’ll let you play about with an octogenarian, won’t they?”

“I’ll come,” I answered the General eagerly.

“Very good.  Tomorrow.  Oh, by George, no.  That confounded Prime Minister comes down to me tomorrow.  I detest old men,” said General Cochrane.  “Well, then, the day after?”