She left the room and sent off her messenger. Returning she led Jane up the short staircase to the tiniest and most attractive of English guest rooms.
“You see, though I am not married nor intend to be,” she said, with the smile which made her somewhat plain but noteworthy face charming to her guest, “I can quite understand that you would like a look in the mirror before the Chaplain arrives. You have always reminded me of some smooth-winged bird, but the smoothest winged of birds will preen itself a good bit, and you shall do the same. Then come down, and we’ll be having tea when the knocker claps. After that—I have an engagement at my work-rooms—oh, yes, indeed I have! There is still much to be done for our soldiers and yours, you know.”
Jane would have been more—or less—than woman if she had not welcomed the chance to remove all possible traces of her journey before the sounding of that knocker. She made haste, but none too much, for Miss Stoughton’s predictions were truer than could have been expected of one who must walk with a cane. As the last hairpin slipped into place the knocker fell, and Jane caught one quick breath before she ran to complete the freshening of every feather in those “smooth wings” of hers.
“He’s here, Jane dear,” Miss Stoughton presently announced, as she followed her knock into the little guest room. “I don’t consider myself at all susceptible to bachelor attractions, but I will admit that I like this man’s face and his nice manner—and—quite everything about him. I’m going to slip out now, and let you come down to find him alone.”
“Oh, please stay and have tea with us first, Miss Stoughton—please do!”
“I am convinced of your sincerity and truthfulness,” replied Miss Stoughton, “in all ordinary matters. I should not hesitate to buy from you any rare curio in the world on your word of honour alone that it was authentic. But when you urge me to stay by my fireside and have tea with you and a Scottish-American chaplain whom you have not seen for considerably more than a year, I have my doubts, my dear, of your good faith. I’ll see that the kettle is boiling for you, and you, as you Americans say, must ‘do the rest.’”
Jane laughed, her eyes glowing. “Oh, you’re such a friend,” she whispered. “But please don’t stay away long. I want you to know Mr. Black—indeed I do. And I’m so happy to have your home to meet him in.”
“My home is yours—and his—while you stay.” And Miss Stoughton went away, beaming with kindness—and experiencing a touch of envy. What must it be, she thought, to look as Jane was looking—so fresh and lovely in spite of her years of business life and these months of work and heavy care—and then go down to meet the eyes of such a man as this who waited below for her? Miss Stoughton walked very fast as she went through the crowded streets; it was best to hurry to her work, and not to think too long on what might be taking place in that little drawing room of hers.
Jane came down so quietly that Robert Black would not have heard her if he had not been on the watch. When she caught sight of him he was standing waiting for her, leaning upon the stout cane without which he could not yet wholly support himself. Her heart, at sight of the thin yet strong and undaunted look of his face, the whole soldierly pose of him in his uniform, gave one quick throb of mingled joy and pain, and then went on beating wildly. It couldn’t be real—it couldn’t—that after all both had been through they had met again—that they were both here, in this little London drawing room. Yet it was real—oh, thank God, it was real!
It was dark outside, but lamplight and firelight shone on both faces as the two pairs of eyes looked into each other.