His answer was marked with a warning note of stiffness.
"Lady Dredlinton," he repeated. "I know her, certainly. I was at her hospital at Étaples."
"Every one says that she is charming," the young lady continued, with a side glance at him. "Pity she can't keep that wicked husband of hers a little more under control. You know, Mr. Wingate," she confided, "he has asked me to supper four or five times but I have never cared about going with him quite alone. A girl has to be so careful in my position. Don't you agree with me?"
"I suppose so," he answered indifferently.
"Dear old 'Dredful,' as Lord Fanleighton used to call him, can be very amusing sometimes, but he hasn't the best reputation, and of course he's terrible when he's drunk, as he was last night. I do so like nice men," she sighed, "and there are scarcely any left. One seems to have lost all one's friends in the war," she went on reminiscently, her large blue eyes veiled with sadness. "It makes one feel very lonely sometimes."
Wingate scarcely heard her. His eyes were fixed upon the two men walking up the carpeted way from the restaurant. One was Peter Phipps, the other Lord Dredlinton. Flossie Lane, seeking to discover the cause of her companion's abstraction, glanced in the same direction and recognised them at once.
"Why here is Lord Dredlinton!" she exclaimed. "And Mr. Peter Phipps! He is rather a dear person, Mr. Phipps, you know, although you don't like him."
"Is he!" Wingate observed grimly.
"They are coming to speak to us," the young lady went on, shaking her skirts a little and glancing into the mirror which she had just drawn from her bag. "What a bother!"
Lord Dredlinton, more dignified than usual but if possible still more unpleasant, threaded his way between the chairs and paused before the two, followed, a few spaces behind, by Phipps.