A tall, elderly man, with smooth white hair plastered over his forehead, very precisely dressed, and with a gait so careful as to be almost mincing, was approaching their table. Pamela held out her hands. "My dear uncle!" she exclaimed. "And I thought that you and aunt never dined at restaurants!" Mr. Hastings stood with his fingers resting lightly upon the table. He glanced at Lutchester without apparent recognition. "You remember Mr. Lutchester?" Pamela murmured. Mr. Hastings' manner lacked the true American cordiality, but he hastened to extend his hand. "Of course!" he declared. "I was not fortunate enough, however, to see much of you the other evening, Mr. Lutchester. We have several mutual friends whom I should be glad to hear about." "I shall pay my respects to Mrs. Hastings, if I may, very shortly," Lutchester promised. "Are you with friends here, uncle?" Pamela inquired. "We are the guests of Mr. Oscar Fischer," the Senator announced. Pamela raised her eyebrows. "So you know Mr. Fischer, uncle?" "Naturally," Mr. Hastings replied, with some dignity. "Oscar Fischer is one of the most important men in the State which I represent. He is a man of great wealth and industry and immense influence." Pamela made a little grimace. Her uncle noticed it and frowned. "He has just been telling us of his voyage with you, Pamela. Perhaps, if Mr. Lutchester can spare you," he went on, with a little bow across the table, "you will come and take your coffee with us. Your aunt is leaving for Washington, probably to-morrow, and wishes to arrange for you to travel with her. Mr. Lutchester may also, perhaps, give us the pleasure of his company for a few minutes," he added, after a slight but obvious pause. "Thank you," Pamela answered quickly, "I am Mr. Lutchester's guest this evening. If you are still here, I shall love to come and speak to aunt for a moment later on. If not, I will ring up to-morrow morning." The bland, almost episcopal serenity of Senator Hastings' face was somewhat disturbed. It was obvious that the situation displeased him. "I think, Pamela," he said, "that you had better come and speak to your aunt before you leave." His bow to Lutchester was the bow of a politician to an adversary. He made his way back in leisurely fashion to the table from which he had come, exchanging a few words with many acquaintances. Pamela watched him with a twinkle in her eyes. "I am becoming so unpopular," she murmured. "I can read in my uncle's tone that my aunt and he disapprove of our dining together here. And as for Mr. Fischer. I'm afraid he'll break off our prospective alliance." Lutchester smiled. "Prospective is the only word to use," he observed. "By the bye, are you particularly fond of your uncle?" "Not riotously," she admitted. "He has been kind to me once or twice, but he's rather a starchy old person." "In that case," Lutchester decided, "we won't interfere." CHAPTER XXX