“An orphan....” he began.
The clerk at the door spoke in the strained way of managing clerks.
“Miss Diana Ford, sir,” he said.
The legal house of Collings & Cathcart exchanged glances.
“Show the young lady in.” The door closed. “Be gentle with her, William.”
Mr. Cathcart writhed.
“Will she be gentle with me?” he asked bitterly. “Will you guarantee that she will be reasonably polite to me—and back your guarantee with real money?”
There came through the door a peach tree, blossoming in the spring of the year; summer dawn on riverside meadows with the dew winking from a thousand gossamers. The froth of hawthorn in an English country lane; a crystal brook whispering between slim larches. Miss Diana Ford.
During the war Mr. Cathcart had held a commission in the Army Service Corps (Home Service) and had acquired the inventory habit. He saw: