"That's not very complimentary to our attractiveness, Mr. Dene," said Dorothy.
Again John Dene turned to her with a puzzled look in his eyes.
"You should have assumed that two such desirable people as mother and me were dining out every night, shouldn't he, mother?"
John Dene turned to Mrs. West, his brows meeting in a frown of uncertainty.
"Dorothy will never be serious," she explained with a little sigh. "She's only joking," whereat John Dene's face cleared, and without further ado he hailed a taxi. As Sir Bridgman North had said, John Dene never waited to be contradicted.
That evening many of the diners at the Imperial turned their heads in the direction of a table at which sat a man in the uniform of a naval commander, a fair-haired girl and a little white-haired lady, the happiness of whose face seemed to arouse responsive smiles in those who gazed at her.
Slowly and haltingly John Dene told of what had happened since that Wednesday night some three months before when his brother had taken his place. Although John Dene never hesitated when telling of what he was going to do, he seemed to experience considerable difficulty in narrating what he had actually done.
"And aren't you happy?" enquired Dorothy, her eyes sparkling with excitement at the story of what the Destroyer, her Destroyer, had done.
"Sure," he replied, looking straight into her eyes, whereat she dropped her gaze to the peach upon her plate.
"I feel very proud that I know you, Mr. Dene," said Mrs. West, her eyes moist with happiness.