"There is no doubt of that," he said, unconscious of offense. "But the
War Office--" He held out his hands.

Sara Lee, who had already caught the British "a" and was rather overdoing
it, had a wild impulse to make the same gesture. It meant so much.

More conversation. Evidently more difficulties--but with Henri now
holding the center of the stage and speaking rapidly. The heavy-set man
retired and read letters under an electric lamp. The band upstairs was
having dinner. And Henri argued and wrangled. He was quite passionate.
The man in the military cape listened and smiled. And at last he nodded.

Henri turned to Sara Lee.

"You Americans are all brave," he said. "You like--what is it you
say?--taking a chance, I think. Would you care to take such a chance?"

"What sort of a chance?"

"May I visit you this evening at your hotel?"

Just for an instant Sara Lee hesitated. There was Harvey at home. He
would not like her receiving a call from any man. And Harvey did not
like foreigners. He always said they had no respect for women. It
struck her suddenly what Harvey would call Henri's bowing and his kissing
her hand, and his passionate gesticulations when he was excited. He
would call it all tomfool nonsense.

And she recalled his final words, his arms so close about her that she
could hardly breathe, his voice husky with emotion.