"Ernestine!" Lindsay said warmly. "I just love _you_. Contrary to the generally accepted opinion of the pacifists, France did not deliberately bring this war on herself. Nor did she keep it up four years for her private amusement. She hasn't enjoyed one minute of it. I don't expect Gratia to believe me, but perhaps you will. These four years of death, destruction, and devastation haven't entertained France a particle." "Well, of course--" Ernestine was beginning, "but what's the use?" Her eyes met Lindsay's in a perplexed, comprehending stare. Lindsay shook his handsome head gayly. "No use whatever," he said. "I'm rapidly growing taciturn." "What I would like to ask you," Mr. Phillips broke in, "does war seem such a pretty thing to you, young man, after you've seen a little of it? I remember in '65 most of us came back thinking that Sherman hadn't used strong enough language." "Mr. Phillips," Lindsay answered, "if there's ever another war, it will take fifteen thousand dollars to send me a postcard telling me about it." The talk drifted away from the war: turned to prohibition; came back to it again. Lindsay answered Mr. Phillips's questions with enthusiastic thoroughness. They pertained mainly to his training at Pau and Avord, but Lindsay volunteered a detailed comparison of the American military method with the French. "I'll always be glad though," he concluded, "that I had that experience with the French Army. And of course when our troops got over, I was all ready to fly." "Then the French uniform is so charming," Gratia put in, consciously sarcastic. Lindsay slapped her slim wrist indulgently and continued to answer Mr. Phillips's questions. Ernestine listened, the look of trouble growing in her serene eyes. Gratia listened, diving under water after her shocked exclamations and reappearing glistening. "Oh, there's Matty Packington!" Gratia broke in. "You haven't met Matty yet, Dave. Hi, Matty! You _must_ know Matty. She's a sketch. She's one of those people who say the things other people only dare think. You won't believe her." She rattled one of her staccato explanations; "society girl--first a slumming tour through the Village--perfectly crazy about it--studio in McDougal Alley--yeowoman--becoming uniform--Rolls-Royce--salutes--" Matty Packington approached the table with a composed flutter. The two men arose. Gratia met her halfway; performed the introductions. In a minute the conversation was out of everybody's hands and in Miss Packington's. As Gratia prophesied, Lindsay found it difficult to believe her. She started at an extraordinary speed and she maintained it without break.