"Dredlinton House, Grosvenor Square," she answered. "You mustn't let me take you out of your way, though."
"Will you humour me?" he asked. "There is something I want to say to you, and I don't want to say it here. May we drive to Albert Gate and walk in the Park a little way? I can find you another taxi the other side."
"I should like that very much," she answered.
They spoke scarcely at all during their brief drive, or during the first part of their walk in the Park. Then he pointed to two chairs under a tree.
"May we sit here?" he begged, leading the way.
She followed, and they sat side by side. He took off his hat and laid it on the ground.
"So one of the dreams of my life has been realised," he said quietly. "I have met Sister Josephine again."
She was for a moment transformed. A delicate pink flush stole through the pallor of her cheeks, her tired eyes were lit with pleasure. She smiled at him.
"I was wondering," she murmured. "You really hadn't forgotten, then?"
"I remember," he told her, "as though it were yesterday, the first time I ever saw you. I was brought into Étaples. It wasn't much of a wound but it was painful. I remember seeing you in that white stone hall, in your cool Sister's dress. After the dust and horror of battle there seemed to be nothing in that wonderful hospital of yours but sunlight and white walls and soft voices. I watched your face as you listened to the details about my case—and I forgot the pain. In the morning you came to see how I was, and most mornings afterwards."