"All the same," he observed, as he leaned over and shook hands with his host, "I should never be surprised to come across you in that smoke-disfigured den of infamy! Look me up when you come, won't you?"
"Certainly," Sir Denis promised. "And—my regards to Nora!"
Richard Beverley, after his first embrace, held his sister's hands for a moment and looked into her face.
"Why, Katharine," he exclaimed, "London's not agreeing with you! You look pale."
She laughed carelessly.
"It was the heat last month," she told him. "I shall be all right now. How well you're looking!"
"I'm fine," he admitted. "It's a great life, Katharine. I'm kind of worried about you, though."
"There is nothing whatever the matter with me," she assured him, "except that I want some work. In a few days' time now I shall have it. I have eighty nurses on the way from the hospital, with doctors and dressers and a complete St. Agnes's outfit. They sailed yesterday, and I shall go across to Havre to meet them."
"Good for you!" Richard exclaimed. "Say, Katharine, what about lunch?"
"You must be starving," she declared. "We'll go down and have it. I feel better already, Dick. I think I must have been lonely."