Richard stretched himself in any easy-chair and
lit a cigar with an air of huge content.
"I am to be transferred when our first division comes across," he told her.
"Our Squadron Commander's going to make that all right with the W.O. We've
had some grand flights lately, I can tell you, Katharine."
There was a knock at the door, a few moments later. The waiter entered,
bearing a card upon a tray, which he handed to Katharine. She read it with
a perplexed frown.
"Sir Denis Cathley.--But I don't know of any one of that name," she
declared, glancing up. "Are you sure that he wants to see me?"
"Perhaps I had better explain," a quiet voice interposed from outside. "May
I come in?"
Katharine gave a little cry and Richard sprang to his feet. Sir Denis
pushed past the waiter. For a moment Katharine had swayed upon her feet. "I
am so sorry," he said earnestly. "Please forgive me, Miss Beverley, and do
sit down. It was an absurd thing to force my way upon you like this. Only,
you see," he went on, as he helped her to a chair, "the circumstances which
required my use of a partially assumed name have changed. I ought to have
written you and explained. Naturally you thought I was dead, or at the
other end of the world."
Katharine smiled a little weakly.
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