She laughed contentedly. Then her warm head moved a little on his shoulder; he looked down; lightly their lips joined.
"Kay—my dear—dear Kay," she whispered.
"There's somebody opening the garden door," she said under her breath, and sat bolt upright.
McKay also sat up on his steamer chair.
"Oh!" he cried gaily, "hello, Recklow! Where on earth have you been for three days?"
Recklow came into the rose arbour. The blossoms were gone from the vines but it was a fragrant, golden place into which the September sun filtered. He lifted Miss Erith's hand and kissed it gravely. "How are you?" he inquired.
"Perfectly well, and ready for Paris!" she said smilingly.
Recklow shook hands with McKay.
"You'll want a furlough, too," he remarked. "I'll fix it. How do you feel, McKay?"
"All right. Has anything come out of our report on the Great
Secret?"