'All I could do to keep my toe off the little devil!' the Canadian exclaimed angrily. 'I'd like to take him back with me out into the trenches for a few days!'
A young man who had been talking to an English officer on the outskirts of the group, turned around. He was a tall, well-set-up young man, with a face rather grave for his years and a mouth a little over-firm. He, too, had watched the exit of the stranger half in indignation, half in contempt.
'Who was that extraordinary little man?' he inquired.
No one seemed to know. The waiter paused with a tray full of glasses.
'He's staying in the hotel--arrived yesterday from America, sir,' he announced. 'I don't know his name, but I think he's a little queer in his head.'
The young man set down his glass upon the counter.
'A person,' he remarked, 'who can laugh at such a ghastly thing, must be either very queer in his head indeed, or----'
'I don't know,' the other replied thoughtfully. 'Well, _au revoir_, you fellows! I'm going in to lunch. Sure you won't come with me, Reggie?'
'Sorry, I have to be back in ten minutes,' the other replied. 'See you to-morrow.'
Ambrose Lavendale strolled out of the room, crossed the smoke-room and descended into the restaurant. At a table in a remote corner, seated by himself, the little man who had been guilty of such a breach of good-feeling was studying the menu with a waiter by his side. Lavendale watched him for a moment curiously. Then he turned to speak to one of the _maîtres d'hôtel_, a short, dark man with a closely-cropped black moustache.
'I shan't want my usual table this morning, Jules,' he announced. 'I am going to sit in that corner.'
He indicated a vacant table close to the little man whom he had been watching. The _maîtres d'hôtel_ bowed and ushered him towards it.
'Just as you like, Mr. Lavendale,' he said. 'It isn't often you care about this side of the room, though.'
Lavendale seated himself at the table he had selected, gave a brief order, and, leaning back, glanced around him. The little man had sent for a newspaper and was reading it eagerly, but for a moment Lavendale's interest was attracted elsewhere. At the very next table, also alone, also reading a newspaper, was the most striking-looking young woman he had ever seen in his life. Lavendale was neither susceptible nor imaginative. He considered himself a practical, hard-headed person, notwithstanding the fact that he had embraced what was for his country practically a new profession. Nevertheless, he was conscious of what almost amounted to a new interest in life as he studied, a little too eagerly, perhaps, the girl's features. She was dark, with hair brushed plainly back from a somewhat high and beautifully shaped forehead. Her complexion was pale, her eyes a deep shade of soft brown. Her eyebrows were almost Japanese, fine and silky yet intensely dark. Her mouth, even in repose, seemed full of curves. She appeared to be of medium height and she was undoubtedly graceful, and what made her more interesting still to Lavendale was the fact that, although her manner of doing so was stealthy, she, too, was watching the little man who was now commencing his luncheon.