"Peter Stoger," still sullenly.
"What nationality?"
"Swiss."
"Very well, Peter. You may take our order." And without further remark, the Captain dismissed him.
"Daddy, I don't like that man," whispered Patricia when he was gone. "He looks like an alien enemy. I don't believe he's Swiss at all. Can't we have another? I know he's going to make me uncomfortable and worry me."
"Oh, he's all right," replied the Captain easily. "You must learn not to mind an unprepossessing outer appearance. If he makes a good waiter, nothing else about him will matter much to us. Don't get 'spies' on the brain."
Patricia subsided, unconvinced, and they both gazed quietly about them for the few moments while they were waiting to be served.
"Oh, Daddy," whispered Patricia, "don't look for a minute or two, but isn't that a lovely woman at the table diagonally at our right, just a little behind you? She reminds me somehow of Aunt Evelyn. And there's a pretty girl with her, just about my age, I should think, but I wonder what makes her look so queer and cross—and sullen?"
After a proper interval, Captain Meade glanced in the direction indicated. The woman's appearance was certainly striking enough to attract attention in any assembly. Her wavy gray hair was elaborately dressed, she had large, liquid brown eyes, she was beautifully if quietly gowned, and was of imposing height and build.
"She does look a little like your Aunt Evelyn," he agreed, "only much handsomer and more imposing. The young person with her doesn't seem to be enjoying life, somehow."