“Queer, isn’t it?” he said seriously. “Here we’ve only seen each other once, and yet somehow it seems to me as if I’d known you for years!”
“Well, the circumstances are rather unusual,” said Lexy.
“You’re right! But look here—we’ve got to talk about all this. Where were you going?”
“Back to Mrs. Royce’s.”
“Let’s go!” he said cheerfully, and picked up the bag as if it were nothing at all.
“But where were you going?” asked Lexy.
“To find you. You see, we ran into some awfully bad weather, and the engines broke down, and we came back for repairs; so I got your letters. I explained to the old man that I’d have to have leave, for some very important business, and off I came to Wyngate. Your Mrs. Royce told me you’d gone out to the Queltons’. I didn’t like that. Why did you go there, after what had happened?”
“I’ll tell you all about that later,” said Lexy; “but now you’ve got to tell me things. How did you ever meet Caroline? How in the world did she manage to write to you?”
“Well, you see, I met her about a year ago, on board the Ormond. She and her parents were coming back from France, and I was third officer, you know. Her mother and father were seasick most of the time, so we had a chance to—to talk to each other; and, you see—”
“Yes, I see!” said Lexy gently.