"We won't speak of that," I said, "if you don't mind. I am not proud of it."
Catherine scanned me more narrowly. I knew her better with that look. "Then tell me about yourself, and do sit down," she said, drawing a chair near the fire, but sitting on the other side of it herself. "I needn't ask you how you are. I never saw you looking so well. That comes of going right away and not hurrying back. I think you were so wise! But, Duncan, I am sorry to see both sticks still! Have you seen your man since you came back?"
"I have."
"Well?"
"I'm afraid there's no more soldiering for me."
Catherine seemed more than sorry and disappointed; she looked quite indignant with the eminent specialist who had finally pronounced this opinion. Was I sure he was the very best man for that kind of thing? She would have a second opinion, if she were me. Very well, then, a third and fourth! If there was one man she pitied from the bottom of her heart, it was the man without a profession or an occupation of some kind. Catherine looked, however, as though her pity were almost akin to horror.
"I have a trifle, luckily," I said. "I must try something else."
Catherine stared into the fire, as though thinking of something else for me to try. She seemed full of apprehension on my account.
"Don't you worry about me," I went on. "I came here to talk about somebody else, of course."
Catherine almost started.