If Marie had arrived there in disguise, as he hoped she had, he could imagine that the poor Chargé was having a bad quarter of an hour.
His anticipations proved true. As he entered the office the Chargé sprang up. “Well, Mr. Caruth,” he cried, “this is the limit! Not content with engaging in filibustering, you seem to have gone in for direct nihilism. Heavens, man, haven’t you any consideration for the position you put me in?”
Caruth did not answer. His eyes had lighted on a well-remembered form, and he turned to greet Marie Fitzhugh.
Swiftly she came toward him still dressed in her men’s clothes, and laid her white hand in his.
“Thank God you are safe!” she said with a catch in her voice. “It was the bravest thing I ever knew.”
Caruth smiled at her. “Nonsense!” he answered. “I’ve taken many a harder crack in football. It was all right again in ten minutes. And the police couldn’t do a thing to me, though I guess they knew pretty well what had happened. But you? Did you get through all right?”
“Easily. I came here, and—well, I suppose I made myself a nuisance, and——” She turned shyly toward the Chargé.
But that gentleman had calmed down a little. He had remembered that Caruth’s friends were powerful politically and that it might not be well for him to show too much irritation.
“Not at all,” he protested. “Not at all. I simply didn’t know what to do under the circumstances. And I’d really be glad if you’d tell me just what you want me to do now.”
Caruth smiled. “There’s one thing you can do all right, all right,” he answered happily, “and it won’t compromise you, either. Just call in your Embassy minister and let him marry us as quick as he can say the words. Then if we can get to the Sea Spume, we’ll skiddoo and leave you alone forevermore. That’ll be a relief, I know.”