'Right away,' Mr. Hurn assented. 'And, General,' he went on, swaggering a little as he shambled along by the side of the tall, alert, military figure--queerest contrast in the world--'give me a factory--one of your ordinary factories will do, all your ordinary appliances will do, but give me control of it for one month and you can invite me to Berlin to the peace signing.' * * * * * At about half-past eight that evening, after having waited about for some time in the hall of the Milan Grill-room, Lavendale handed his coat and hat to the vestiaire and passed into the crowded restaurant. A young man of excellent poise and balance, he was almost bewildered at his own sensations as he elbowed his way through the throng of waiters and passers-by. At the corner of the glass screen he paused. The girl was there, seated at the same table, with a newspaper propped up in front of her. Her black hair seemed glossier than ever; her face, unshadowed by any hat, a little more pallid and forceful. A fur coat had fallen back from her white shoulders. She seemed to be wholly absorbed in the paper in front of her. 'A table, monsieur?' a soft voice murmured at his elbow. Lavendale shook off his abstraction and glanced reluctantly away. 'I am dining with Mr. Hurn, Jules,' he replied. 'He said eight o'clock, but I can't see anything of him.' Jules pointed to a table close at hand, evidently reserved for two people. There were _hors d'oeuvres_ waiting and a bottle of wine upon the ice. 'Mr. Hurn ordered dinner for eight o'clock punctually, sir,' he announced. 'I have been expecting him in for some time.' The girl, as though attracted by their voices, had raised her eyes. She looked towards the unoccupied table by the side of which Jules was standing. The three of them for a moment seemed to have concentrated their regard upon the same spot, and Lavendale was conscious of a queer little emotion, an unanalyzable foreboding. 'The gentleman ordered a very excellent dinner,' Jules observed. 'I have already sent back the cocktails twice.' Lavendale glanced at the clock. Almost at the same time his eyes met the girl's. There was a quiver of recognition in her face. He took instant advantage of it and moved towards her. 'You are quite recovered, I trust, Miss de Freyne?' She raised her eyes to his. Again he felt that sense of baffling impenetrability. It was impossible even to know whether she appreciated or resented his question. 'I am quite recovered, thank you,' she said. 'You have seen nothing more of our queer little friend?' 'Nothing at all,' she told him. 'He invited me to dine with him,' Lavendale explained, 'at eight o'clock punctually. I have been waiting outside for nearly half an hour.' She glanced at the clock and Lavendale, with a little bow, passed on. 'Perhaps he meant me to go up to his room,' he remarked, addressing Jules. 'Do you know his number?'