“Mr. Ennison,” she exclaimed, “is that really you?”
There was no sign of embarrassment in her manner. She held out her hand frankly. She seemed honestly glad to see him.
“How odd that I should almost spring into your arms just on my doorstep!” she remarked gaily. “Are you in a hurry? Will you come in and have some coffee?”
He hesitated, and glanced towards her companion. He saw now that it was merely a boy.
“This is Mr. Sydney Courtlaw—Mr. Ennison,” she said. “You are coming in, aren’t you, Sydney?”
“If I may,” he answered. “Your coffee’s too good to refuse.”
She led the way, talking all the time to Ennison.
“Do you know, I have been wondering what had become of you,” she said. “I had those beautiful roses from you on my first night, and a tiny little note but no address. I did not even know where to write and thank you.”
“I have been abroad,” he said. “The life of a private secretary is positively one of slavery. I had to go at a moment’s notice.”
“I am glad that you have a reasonable excuse for not having been to see me,” she said good-humouredly. “Please make yourselves comfortable while I see to the coffee.”