The young man was handsome in a florid, red-checked way, with black hair and blue eyes. Unlike Byrne, he was foppishly neat. He was not alone. A slim little Austrian girl, exceedingly chic, rose when he did and threw away the end of a cigarette. “Why do we go so soon?” she demanded fretfully in German. “It is early still.” He replied in English. It was a curious way they had, and eminently satisfactory, each understanding better than he spoke the other's language. “Because, my beloved,” he said lightly, “you are smoking a great many poisonous and highly expensive cigarettes. Also I wish to speak to Peter.” The girl followed his eyes and stiffened jealously. “Who is that with Peter?” “We are going over to find out, little one. Old Peter with a woman at last!” The little Austrian walked delicately, swaying her slim body with a slow and sensuous grace. She touched an officer as she passed him, and paused to apologize, to the officer's delight and her escort's irritation. And Peter Byrne watched and waited, a line of annoyance between his brows. The girl was ahead; that complicated things. When she was within a dozen feet of the table he rose hastily, with a word of apology, and met the couple. It was adroitly done. He had taken the little Austrian's arm and led her by the table while he was still greeting her. He held her in conversation in his absurd German until they had reached the swinging doors, while her companion followed helplessly. And he bowed her out, protesting his undying admiration for her eyes, while the florid youth alternately raged behind him and stared back at Harmony, interested and unconscious behind her table. The little Austrian was on the pavement when Byrne turned, unsmiling, to the other man. “That won't do, you know, Stewart,” he said, grave but not unfriendly. “The Kid wouldn't bite her.” “We'll not argue about it.” After a second's awkward pause Stewart smiled. “Certainly not,” he agreed cheerfully. “That is up to you, of course. I didn't know. We're looking for you to-night.” A sudden repulsion for the evening's engagement rose in Byrne, but the situation following his ungraciousness was delicate. “I'll be round,” he said. “I have a lecture and I may be late, but I'll come.” The “Kid” was not stupid. She moved off into the night, chin in air, angrily flushed. “You saw!” she choked, when Stewart had overtaken her and slipped a hand through her arm. “He protects her from me! It is because of you. Before I knew you--” “Before you knew me, little one,” he said cheerfully, “you were exactly what you are now.” She paused on the curb and raised her voice. “So! And what is that?” “Beautiful as the stars, only--not so remote.” In their curious bi-lingual talk there was little room for subtlety. The “beautiful” calmed her, but the second part of the sentence roused her suspicion. “Remote? What is that?” “I was thinking of Worthington.” The name was a signal for war. Stewart repented, but too late.