Westerham bowed his head. Now that he found himself in her presence explanation became difficult. For a few minutes he could say nothing but stood watching Kathleen, who had sunk down into a chair as if utterly worn out in body and in spirit.
Westerham gathered himself together and came to the conclusion that the time had now come when he at any rate should no longer continue to make mysteries.
“Lady Kathleen,” he said, “I owe you a deep apology for following you here. I learnt of your visit to Rouen quite by accident from my friend, Lord Dunton.”
“Your friend, Lord Dunton!” exclaimed Kathleen with wide-open eyes. “Your friend, Lord Dunton! What do you mean?”
“I mean,” said Westerham, simply, “that Lord Dunton is my friend. You know me as James Robinson, a man who, in order to secure acquaintance with yourself, had to indulge in the very questionable privilege of a friendship with Melun.
“It was, believe me, quite by accident I discovered that Melun in some way held your father in his grasp. I was sorry for Lord Penshurst, but infinitely more sorry for you. I offered you my help, but you refused it. It was, perhaps, impertinent on my part, and I cannot blame you for doubting the genuineness of my offer. I was not then in a position to explain either my motives or my identity.
“‘James Robinson’ is not my name. I am, as a matter of fact, the Sir Paul Westerham who was reported to have disappeared from the Gigantic.”
Lady Kathleen was staring at him in greater astonishment than before.