“Oh, I say,” he replied, “that was a ripping joke on the bally Dutchmen.”

Jane eyed him uncertainly.  He seemed almost like a stranger to her in this unfamiliar guise, though for hours she had been eagerly looking forward to his coming.

The exciting developments of the night before still were to her very puzzling.  She recalled Frederic’s identification of himself, and after that all was blank.  When she had come to she had found herself in a motor being rapidly driven toward New York in the early dawn, with Carter as her escort.  He had not been inclined to be at all communicative.

“Let the Captain tell you the story himself,” said Carter.  “He knows all the details.”

“But when can I see him?” questioned Jane.  “When,” she hesitated, remembering the shameful bonds that had held him, “when will he be free?”

“He’s as free this minute as we are,” Carter explained.  “It didn’t take the Chief long to get the bracelets off, after Colonel Brook-White had identified him.  There’s a lot for the Captain to do still, but rest assured, he’ll waste no time getting back to the city to see you.”

“I hope not,” sighed the girl.

She was too weary, too weak from the revulsion of feeling that had come on learning that her lover instead of being a dastardly spy was a wonderful hero, to make even a pretense at maidenly modesty.  She wanted to see Frederic too much to care what any one thought.

Slipping into her home fortunately without arousing any of her family, she had gone to bed with the intention of getting a rest of an hour or two.  Sleep, she was sure, would be impossible, for she felt far too excited and upset.  Yet she had not realized how utterly exhausted she was.  Hardly had her head touched the pillow before she was lost to everything, and it was long after noon when a maid aroused her to announce that Captain Seymour had ’phoned that he would call at three.

As she dressed to receive him, she was wondering how she should greet him.  Blushingly she recalled the impassioned kiss he had pressed on her lips—­why it was only yesterday.  It had seemed ages and ages ago, so much had intervened.  Mingled with a shyness that arose from her vivid memories was also a shade of indignation.  Why had he not told her?  Did he not trust her?  She resolved to punish him for not taking her into his confidence by an air of coldness toward him.  Certainly he deserved it.

Yet, when he arrived, so full of animation did he appear to be, that the lofty manner in which she greeted him apparently went unnoticed.  He met her with a warm handclasp and anxious inquiries about how she felt after all the exciting events.  Too filled with eagerness to know all the details of his adventures she had found it difficult to maintain her pose, and soon was seated cosily beside him, asking him question after question, all the while furtively studying him in his proper role.  As Frederic Hoff she had thought him wonderfully handsome and masterful.  As Captain Sir Frederic Seymour, in his regimental finery, he was simply irresistible.