"Oh, I don't know," said the other, rising. "We get more leave than you fellows, and I'd sooner be on my tramp than in the trenches. The sea's good and clean to die in, anyway. Cheerio."
Peter followed him out in a few minutes, and set about his shopping. He found a florist's in Regent Street and bought lavishly. The girl smiled at him, and suggested this and that. "Having a dinner somewhere to-night?" she queried. "But I have no violets."
"Got my girl comin' up," said Peter expansively; "that's why there must be violets. See if you can get me some and send them over, will you?" he asked, naming his hotel. She promised to do her best, and he departed.
He went into a chocolate shop. "Got some really decent chocolates?" he demanded.
The girl smiled and dived under the counter. "These are the best," she said, holding out a shovelful for Peter to taste. He tried one. "They'll do," he said. "Give me a couple of pounds, in a pretty box if you've got one."
"Two pounds!" she exclaimed. "What are you thinking of? We can only sell a quarter."
"Only a quarter!" said Peter. "That's no good. Come on, make up the two pounds."
"If my boss comes in or finds out I'll be fired," said the girl; "can't be done."
"Well, that doesn't matter," said Peter innocently, "You'll easily get a job—something better and easier, I expect."
"It's easy enough, perhaps," said the girl, "but you never can tell. And it's dangerous, and uncertain."