"At half-after ten."

"We'll go up together, then. Did you see the admiral's daughter?"

"A daughter? Has he one?" Breitmann accepted this news with an
expression of disfavor.

"Yes; and charming, I can tell you. It's all very odd. In Paris that
night, they both sat at the next table."

"Why did you not speak to them?"

"Didn't know who they were. The admiral was one of my father's boyhood
friends, and I did not meet them till very recently;" which was all
true enough. For some unaccountable reason, Fitzgerald found that he
was on guard. "I have ordered an open carriage. If you have any
trunks, I can take them up for you."

"It will be good of you."

They proceeded to finish the repast, and then sought the office, for
their reckoning. Later, they strolled toward the water front.
Fitzgerald, during moments when the talk lagged, thought over the
meeting. There was a false ring to it somewhere. If Breitmann had
been turned down in all the offices in New York, there must have been
some good cause. Newspapers were not passing over men of this fellow's
experience, unless he had been proved untrustworthy. Breitmann had not
told him everything; he had even told him too little. Still, he would
withhold his judgment till he heard from New York on the subject.