Baltazar beamed. His quick eyes gathered curious glances from the luncheon party. It was a proud moment, inaugurating a definite parental position. He wrung the young man’s hand cordially. Godfrey explained: “Kinnaird and I were at Winchester and Cambridge together. He’s a classical swell. When the war came it swallowed us up with different mouths.” He turned to his friend. “Where have you been all the time?” “Gallipoli. Then a soft turn in Egypt. And you?” “Flanders and France.” “I’m off to France next week.” “Let us meet before you go. Where are you to be found?” They exchanged addresses. On leave-taking: “I’m proud to have met you, sir,” said Kinnaird. He turned and sat down at his table. Father and son continued their way to the lounge. “Was that last remark of your friend,” asked Baltazar, “unusual politeness, or did it mean anything?” “Most of my University friends, sir,” replied Godfrey, “know who my father was.” “Oh!” said Baltazar, with knit brows. “Oh, indeed! Anyhow it was very polite. Look here, my boy,” he went on, as they halted by a secluded and inviting little table, “I’ve been struck lately by an outward and visible sign of what seems to me to be an inward, invisible grace. When I was your age, having left school and masters behind me, I would have seen anybody damned first before I called them ‘sir’—except royalty, of course. Now I come back into the world as an elderly codger, and both of you young chaps ‘sir’ me punctiliously.” “I suppose the Army is teaching us manners,” said Godfrey. “Then the war is of some good, after all,” commented Baltazar. “And this reversion to an ancient code provides you with a mode of address which saves you, my young friend, from considerable embarrassment.” Godfrey, quick and sensitive, glanced for an instant at the firm lips drawn down in a humorous smile and at the kindly indulgence in the keen eyes, and then broke into a laugh. “Let us be grateful, sir, to the _Chinoiserie_ of the eighteenth century.” Baltazar folded his arms and contemplated his son admiringly. “Do you know, I couldn’t have got out of it like that if I had thought for a thousand years. Let us sit down.” And when they had settled themselves by the wall on the fringe of the crowded lounge, he went on: “You young men are not the least problem which a Cyrano dropped from the peaceful moon like myself has to solve.” “I’m afraid we don’t quite know what we’re playing at ourselves,” said Godfrey. Again Baltazar felt pleased with the boy’s reply. An understanding fellow; one who could get to the thought behind a few words. “I wish to God I had known you all your life,” said he. At the appeal to sentiment, Godfrey shied like a horse.