The lunch was sent in from the kitchen of a famous restaurant, and was artfully served by Scanlan. During the first part of the meal, the general did little but eat. He had a surprisingly healthy appetite for a retired British soldier of his age and rank. Later he talked, beginning with his little say concerning the War Office. That institution suffered severely. "Bless my soul! what did they need of a commission to look into the state of affairs?" he fumed. "I could have told them about the rifles years ago. Why, man, I lugged one of the useless things to Newfoundland with me, and first day on the barrens crawled to within sixty yards of a stag, and sniped at him steady as a church,--with my elbow on a rock, mind you. Off walked the stag, so I popped again. At that, he walked a bit farther, and shook his head. My half-breed sniggered. 'Damn you,' I said (there were no ladies there, Miss Travers; I never swear before women and parson's), 'make me a target, and I'll see what's the matter with this blessed shootin'-iron.' Sacobie fixed up a target, and we both blazed at it--turn about--all afternoon. Every bullet went eighteen feet to the left. Gad, if they had only heard me that day, they would have guessed that something was wrong with the sightin' of their precious rifles." Next, he held forth on military matters in general, even down to rations and uniforms for men in the field. "The matter with our Tommies," he declared, "is that the poor beggars haven't wind enough to march with, tied about as they are with a lot of idiotic straps." Presently, much to Molly's surprise, he pushed his wine-glasses to one side, and asked for a copy of "Where Might Is Right." "This chap, Hemming, considering his lack of age, knows a wonderful lot about it," he said, when he got the book in his hand. He fluttered the pages, and soon found a passage that seemed to please him. He straightway read it aloud, in ringing tones and with a grand air. "I call that inevitable--inevitable," he cried, glaring the while at his host and the lady, as if looking for contradictions. "It strikes me as remarkably true," agreed Mr. Pollin. Molly said nothing, but something of the inner glow of pride must have shone in her face, for her uncle glanced at her, and smiled knowingly. The general left shortly after lunch, for he was a man of affairs,--mostly other people's. "I must go now," said Molly. "Mother will be wondering what you have done with me." Mr. Pollin took both her hands between his, and pressed them warmly. "Do you love Bert Hemming?" he asked. She turned her face away, and did not answer. But he felt her hands tremble in his, and saw the red glow on neck and cheek. "Bring him back," he said. "If you love him, why ruin your own life as well as his?" "I wrote to him--long ago--and he--he took no notice," whispered Molly. "And you never wrote again?" inquired her uncle.