“Well, it’s rather a long story,” Pen said.
He seemed slightly dazed. He ran his hand through his hair, in a gesture she knew well, and said: “But Major Daubenay—Sir Richard Wyndham—”
“They are both part of the story,” replied Pen. She had been looking keenly at him, and thinking that he had not greatly changed, and she added: “I should have known you anywhere! Have I altered so much?”
“Yes. At least, I don’t know. It’s your hair, I suppose, cut short like that, and—and those clothes!”
He sounded shocked, which made her think that perhaps he had changed a little. “Well, I truly am Pen Creed,” she said.
“Yes, I see that you are, now that I have had time to look at you. But I cannot understand it! I could not help hearing some of what was said, though I tried not to—until I heard Miss Daubenay’s name!”
“Please, Piers, don’t fly into a rage again!” Pen said rather nervously, for she distinctly heard his teeth grind together. “I can explain everything!”
“I do not know whether I am on my head or my heels!” he complained. “You have been imposing on her! How could you do such a thing? Why did you?”
“I haven’t!” said Pen. “And I must say, I do think you might be a little more glad to see me!”
“Of course I am glad! But to come here masquerading as a boy, and playing pranks on a defenceless— That was why she failed last night!”