On the morning after the events last chronicled, Mrs. Lauderdale returned to her work, and at a quarter before eleven Katharine was ready to go out and was watching for Ralston at the library window. As soon as she saw him in the distance she let herself out of the house and went to meet him. He glanced at her rather anxiously as they exchanged greetings, and she thought that he looked tired and careworn. There were shadows under his eyes, and his dark skin looked rather bloodless.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you had an accident the day before yesterday?” she asked at once.
“Who told you I had?” he enquired.
“Mr. Miner. I went out alone yesterday, after you had gone, and I met him at the corner of Washington Square. He told me all about it. How can you do such things, Jack? How can you risk your life in that way? And then, not to tell me! It wasn’t kind. You seem to think I don’t care. I wish you wouldn’t! I’m sure I turned perfectly green when Mr. Miner told me—he must have thought it very extraordinary. You might at least have given me warning.”
“I’m very sorry,” said Ralston. “I didn’t think it was worth mentioning. Wasn’t I all right when I came to see you?”
He looked at her rather anxiously again—for another reason, this time. But her answer satisfied him.
“Oh—you were ‘dear’—even nicer than usual! But don’t do it again—I mean, such things. You don’t know how frightened I was when he told me. In fact, I’m rather ashamed of it, and it’s much better that you shouldn’t know.”
“All right!” And Ralston smiled happily. “Now,” he continued after a moment’s thought, “I want to explain to you what I’ve found out about this idea of yours.”
“Don’t call it an idea, Jack. You promised that you would do it, you know.”
“Yes. I know I did. But it’s absolutely impossible to have it quite a secret—theoretically, at least.”