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.
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