"You should have assumed that two such desirable people as mother and
me were dining out every night, shouldn't he, mother?"

John Dene turned to Mrs. West, his brows meeting in a frown of
uncertainty.

"Dorothy will never be serious," she explained with a little sigh.
"She's only joking," whereat John Dene's face cleared, and without
further ado he hailed a taxi. As Sir Bridgman North had said, John
Dene never waited to be contradicted.

That evening many of the diners at the Imperial turned their heads in
the direction of a table at which sat a man in the uniform of a naval
commander, a fair-haired girl and a little white-haired lady, the
happiness of whose face seemed to arouse responsive smiles in those who
gazed at her.

Slowly and haltingly John Dene told of what had happened since that
Wednesday night some three months before when his brother had taken his
place. Although John Dene never hesitated when telling of what he was
going to do, he seemed to experience considerable difficulty in
narrating what he had actually done.

"And aren't you happy?" enquired Dorothy, her eyes sparkling with
excitement at the story of what the _Destroyer_, her _Destroyer_, had
done.

"Sure," he replied, looking straight into her eyes, whereat she dropped
her gaze to the peach upon her plate.

"I feel very proud that I know you, Mr. Dene," said Mrs. West, her eyes
moist with happiness.

"Proud to know me!" he repeated, and then as if Mrs. West's statement
held some subtle humour that he alone had seen, he smiled.

"Why do you smile?" asked Dorothy, looking up at him from beneath her
lashes.

"Well, it tickled me some."

"What did?" she demanded.

"That anyone should be proud to know me," he said simply.

"Perhaps it's because you've never gingered mother up," said Dorothy
pertly.

"Dorothy!" Mrs. West looked anxiously at John Dene, but his eyes were
on Dorothy.

"And are you glad to know me?" he demanded

"'Proud' was the word," corrected Dorothy, playing with her fruit knife.

"'Glad' will do," he said, watching her keenly. "Are you glad I'm
back."

"'You see I'm your secretary," she said demurely, "and I'm--I'm paid to
be glad, aren't I?"

John Dene's face fell.

"When you get to know her better," said Mrs. West, "you will see that
she only teases her friends."

"And her poor mother," put in Dorothy. "When do we resume work, Mr.
Dene?" she asked, turning to him.

"We'll go back to-morrow a.