§ 2
She found her way into a sort of courtyard formed by the back of the house and surrounding outbuildings. And there, throwing food to some chickens, was Helen!
“Cathie!” Helen’s voice was full of glad welcome. Helen had grown a fine woman, somewhat stout perhaps, but upright and fine-looking. She kissed Catherine affectionately, and in her quiet way made a great fuss over her.
“How did you know we were here?” she asked, as she led Catherine into the house by way of the kitchen.
“Quite by chance,” replied Catherine. “I just happened to hear somebody mention it—somebody in the musical line.”
“Ah—my husband knows so many people, doesn’t he? And how about your arm? Of course we heard all about that, you know——”
“Oh, that’s getting better again slowly. When did you come back from America?”
“America?” Helen’s face showed a blank. “We never went to America. Who told you that?”
Catherine flushed a little. “I don’t remember,” she replied nonchalantly. “It must have been a wrong idea I picked up from somebody.”
They chatted on for some time and then Helen said:
“Well, perhaps you would like to go and see my husband. He’s in his study—straight up the steps and second on the left. He’ll be working, but he’ll be glad to see you, I daresay. He used to be very interested in you, didn’t he?”
“I’ll go up and see him,” replied Catherine quietly.
She ascended the steps and found her way to the door of his study. With some trepidation she knocked....