"I've looked out the train… . Early on Saturday afternoon would suit me best… . I'm Ralph Denham… . But I'll write it down… ."
With more than the usual sense of being impinged upon the point of a bayonet, Katharine replied:
"I think I could come. I'll look at my engagements… . Hold on."
She dropped the machine, and looked fixedly at the print of the great-uncle who had not ceased to gaze, with an air of amiable authority, into a world which, as yet, beheld no symptoms of the Indian Mutiny. And yet, gently swinging against the wall, within the black tube, was a voice which recked nothing of Uncle James, of China teapots, or of red velvet curtains. She watched the oscillation of the tube, and at the same moment became conscious of the individuality of the house in which she stood; she hea
