"Kattie dear, will you promise me to stop with madame?" asked Jim anxiously. For it was one thing to have got her there--and a great thing; but it might be quite another thing to get her to stop.
"Must I, Jim?" And the great eyes, swimming with tears, snatched a hasty glance at him.
"Yea, Kattie, you must. And, madame, I cannot thank you enough. Sometime, perhaps--if I come back alive----"
And at that Kattie sprang up and flung her arms round his neck again, crying, "Oh, Jim! Jim!"
And he kissed her gently and put her away, and she sank down into the chair, a convulsive heap of sobs.
He mutely begged madame to follow him, and left the room.
"It is terribly sad," he said to her, In the other room. "I met her near my quarters to-night. She had been waiting for me, and she says--she says"--he stumbled--"well, she says she came to London after me. And, you know, I never had a thought of her--poor little Kattie! And I didn't know what to do with her, and so I brought her to you."
"You did quite right, my boy. For your sake--and, yes--for her own--I will do my best for her. She is a pretty little thing--much too pretty to go to waste in London."
"You are very good, madame, and I am very grateful. Perhaps you would consult Lord Deseret about her too, if you think well. He has been very kind in the matter."
"And you have no feeling for her at all?"