"But, Lord Almighty! Your papers! Your decorations!"

"Quite genuine," she answered, smiling at him with dark eyes,
unafraid. Through all his dazed astonishment he saw the wonder of
those eyes, the perfect oval of that face, the warm, rich tints of her
skin even though overspread with the pallor of suffering.

"Madam," said he, trying to rally, "this is past all words No
explanation can make amends for such deception. Still, the secret is
yet yours--and mine. Until I decide what to do, it must be respected."

Past her he walked, to the door, and snapped the catch. She, turning,
leaned against the table and smiled. He saw the gleam of perfect
teeth. A strange figure she made, with loose hair cascading over her
coat, with knickers and puttees, with wounded arm slung in the breast
of her jacket.

"Thank you for your consideration," she smiled. "It is on a par with
my conception of your character."

"Pray spare me your comments," he replied, coldly. He returned to his
desk, but did not sit down there. Against it he leaned, crossed his
arms, and with somewhat lowered head studied her. "Your explanation,
madam?"

"My papers are _en règle_," said she. "My decorations are genuine.
Numbers of women went through the great war as men. I am one of them,
that is all. Many were never discovered. Those who were, owed it to
wounds that brought them under observation. Had I not been wounded,