"But my father is out. Please tell Captain Trevelyan—"
"But miss, the Captain asked for you."
Cary rose.
"For me?"
Then she laughed.
"Oh, you must be mistaken, but if you'll ask Captain Trevelyan up, I'll explain."
She remained standing by the door of their little sitting room. She could hear the English officer tramping slowly and heavily up the stairs. She remembered Robert telling her of the charge his father had led at Inkerman, and how he had gotten that wound in his hip. After awhile she caught sight of the top of the officer's white head. She went forward to meet him and led him into the room and rolled up a big leather chair.
"It's Papa's favorite," she said, smiling and standing with one hand resting invitingly on the big tufted back.
The English officer smiled back from under his shaggy brows, and sank into the great chair with a sigh of genuine comfort. Cary drew up a chair and sat down near him.
"Papa is out," she said. "He has only just gone, too. I'm so sorry. If you care to wait—and perhaps later let me give you a cup of tea—" she went on with a certain charming spontaneity, "John says my tea is almost like the tea the English girls make—" she questioned Trevelyan's father with her laughing eyes.