It was easy to recognize her in the slender, tallish girl, with masses of fair hair, and clad in the simplest of white frocks. But he would never have known the slim young man with the waxed mustache for Lord Kneedrock, had she not told him. He wore outing flannels and a blazer of wide stripes, and his arm was about her youthful shoulders.
"It was taken at Henley," she said, "just for a lark. Look at the back."
He turned it over and found written there in pencil: "'Arry and his 'Arriet," in a man's hand.
"Hal used always to call me Harriet," she explained, and in spite of her, her voice shook.
He looked at her sharply as he handed it back, remembering just then a certain night in Simla when she told him that she had met her match and her mate in one.
"Does Widdicombe know about this?" he asked.
"I very much doubt that there is anything in Lord Kneedrock's life which Mr. Widdicombe doesn't know," was her answer.
She returned to her chair, but Gerald Andrews remained standing. "Is there anything else I can do?" he inquired. "If not, I'll—"
"You can stay for luncheon," she interrupted.
He thanked her, but declined.