corridor to the door. When he returned to the bed-room two men accompanied him. Not a word was said. The two men marched off with the prisoners and left Kitty alone with her saviour.
"Thank you," she said, simply.
"You poor little chicken, did you believe I had deserted you?" The voice wasn't gruff now.
"Cutty?" Kitty ran to him, flinging her arms round his neck. "Oh, Cutty!"
Cutty's heart, which had bumped along an astonishing number of million times in fifty-two years, registered a memorable bump against his ribs. The touch of her soft arms and the faint, indescribable perfume which emanates from a dainty woman's hair thrilled him beyond any thrill he had ever known. For Kitty's mother had never put her arms round old Cutty's neck. Of course he understood readily enough: Molly's girl, flesh of her flesh. And she had rushed to him as she would have rushed to her father. He patted her shoulder clumsily, still a little dazzled for all the revelation in the analysis. The sweet intimacy of it! The door of Paradise opened for a moment, and then shut in his face.
"I did not recognize you at all!" she cried, standing off. "I shouldn't have known you on the street. And it is so simple. What a wonderful man you are!"
"For an old codger?" Cutty's heart registered another sizable bump.
