It was in this uncertain frame of mind that he went to the Wagram and called Maude Knox’s room on the rather difficult house telephone.
“Captain Ware!...” said her voice. “I hardly expected you, but it’s good of you to have come. I’ll be right down.”
She appeared presently, not in her uniform, but in such a dress as she might have worn at home in America when going out for the evening with a young gentleman.
“What are you doing in Paris?” he demanded. “I thought you were busy being the queen of the doughboys.”
“The division’s being moved, I don’t know where, and I was sent in to wait for orders. Some of our men marched on the Fourth.”
“I suppose it seems good to get back into the world again.”
“Anybody can be in Paris,” she said. “I’ve been having the time of my life—and, really, I think I was some good. I believe I was. The men liked to have me there.”
“Naturally.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Do I understand that you are taking me to dinner?”
“You do. Where shall it be?”