“It was very rotten,” said Lola, “but it couldn’t be helped, and I may have to do it again. I don’t want you to ask me why. I don’t want you to ask me anything. There’s a wee mystery about me which I must ask you to respect. Don’t think about it. Don’t let it worry you, but whenever we go out again just let me disappear. One of these days I’ll tell you all about it, General, and probably you will be very much amused.” She ran her finger along his ribbons and gave him a little smile of respect and admiration which almost made him blush. “Well, then,” she added, “what about to-night? I’m free. That’s why I was just going to think of you and really wasn’t a bit surprised when you suddenly pounced upon me. Things happen like that, don’t they? I can meet you at the Savoy or the Carlton or anywhere else you like. Personally, I’m all for the Carlton.” “The Carlton then,” he said. “Seven-thirty, and after that,—what?” “Let’s leave it,” said Lola. “I love doing things on the spur of the moment.” “You swear you’ll come?” And Lola made a little cross over her heart. Chalfont heaved a sigh and settled back and looked at her, longing to touch her, longing, in front of all the world, to draw her into his arms and kiss her lips. God, if only this girl knew what she had done to him.—And all the while the car bowled along, competing with every other type of car for precedence, all selfish and many badly driven. Lola had no eyes for the undercurrent of excitement that gave the crowds the look that they had worn in the first days of the War or for the outbreak of khaki that lent the streets their old familiar appearance. She was thinking ahead and making plans and tingling at the idea of dipping once more into the current of life. Masterman’s, it turned out, was a florist’s shop, filled attractively with lovely blossoms. Chalfont sprang out and gave Lola his hand. “Come in,” he said, “and tell them where to send enough flowers to make a garden of your house. Please,—to celebrate my having found you at last.” He wished to Heaven that he might have taken her to Aspray’s and covered her with diamonds. He would willingly have gone broke to do her honor. And one of the men came forward to offer his eager services to one who certainly must be of great importance to appear so plainly dressed. “How kind of you,” said Lola. “Those, then,” and she pointed to a bunch of proud red roses that were standing in a vase. “Is that all?” “I want to carry them,” she said. Chalfont was almost boyishly disappointed. He would like to have pictured her among a riot of color. He had not brought her there with a Machiavelian desire to hear her give her address. He was not that kind of man. “Won’t you have some more?”