CHAPTER XXIV
BETWEEN Cutty's heart and his throat there was very little space at that moment for the propelment of sound. Kitty Conover had innocently—he understood that almost immediately and recovered his mental balance—Kitty had innocently thrown a bomb at his feet. It did not matter that it was a dud. The result was the same. For a second, then, all the terror, all the astounding suspension of thought and action attending the arrival of a shell on the battlefield were his.
As an aftermath he would have liked very much to sit down. Instead, maintaining the mock gravity of his expression, he offered his arm, which Kitty accepted, still the Grand Duchess of Gerolstein. Pompously they marched into the dining room. But as Kitty saw Hawksley she dropped the air confusedly, and hesitated. "Good gracious!" she whispered.
"What's the matter?" Cutty whispered in turn.
"My clothes!"
"What's the matter with 'em?"
"I slept in them!"
If that wasn't like a woman! It did not matter how she might look to an old codger, ætat. fifty-two;
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