“If you had not been a guest in this house, Miss Abbeway,” the Colonel assured her, with some dignity, “I should have had you arrested first and questioned afterwards.”
“You come of a race of men, Colonel Henderson, who win wars,” she declared graciously. “You know your own mind.”
“You will be joining us presently, I hope?” Lord Maltenby enquired from the door.
“In a very few minutes,” she promised.
The door closed behind them. Catherine waited for a moment, then she sank a little hysterically into a chair.
“I cannot avoid a touch of melodrama, you see,” she confessed. “It goes with my character and nationality. But seriously, now that that is over, I do not consider myself in the slightest danger. The poor fellow who was shot this morning belongs to a different order of people. He has been a spy over here since the beginning of the war.”
“And what are you?” he asked bluntly.
She laughed up in his face.
“A quite attractive young woman,” she declared,—“at least I feel sure you will think so when you know me better.”