"Are you going out of town?" I asked, with my hat off for her and for
the Imp, whose strange little weazened face I now saw looking over my
tall love's shoulders. It had never before struck me that the Imp was
like a cat; but suddenly the resemblance struck me--something in the
poor little creature's expression, it must have been, or in her greenish
grey eyes which seemed at that moment to concentrate all the knowledge
of old and evil things that has ever come into the world since the days
of the early Egyptians--when a cat was worshipped.

"No, I'm not going out of town," Di answered. "I came here to meet you,
in case you should be leaving by this train, and I brought Lisa with
me."

"Who told you I was leaving?" I asked, hoping for a second or two that
the Foreign Secretary had confided to her something of his
secret--guessing ours, perhaps, and that my unexpected, inexplicable
absence might injure me with her.

"I can't tell you," she answered. "I didn't believe you would go; even
though I got your letter by the eight o'clock post this morning."

"I'm glad you got that," I said. "I posted it soon after I left you last
night."

"Why didn't you tell me when we were bidding each other good-bye, that
you wouldn't be able to see me this afternoon, instead of waiting to
write?"

"Frankly and honestly," I said (for I had to say it), "just at the