More than ever must it be so now; that was as natural as the maternal embargo in which Catherine seemed almost to glory.

And yet, I reflected, if all the widows had thought only of their only sons--and of themselves! "The next depressing morning," continued Catherine, happily oblivious of what was passing through one's mind, "the first thing I saw, the first time I put my nose outside, was a great pink placard with 'Spion Kop Abandoned!' Duncan, it was too awful." "I wish we'd sat tight," I said, "I must confess." "Tight!" cried Catherine in dry horror.

"I should have abandoned it long before.

I should have run away--hard! To think that you didn't--that's quite enough for me." And again I sustained the full flattery of that speechless awe which was yet unembarrassing by reason of its freedom from undue solemnity.
"There were some of us who hadn't a leg to run on," I had to say; "I was one, Mrs.Evers." "I beg your pardon ?" "Catherine, then." But it put me to the blush.
"Thank you.

If you really wish me to call you 'Captain Clephane' you have only to say so; but in that case I can't ask the favour I had made up my mind to ask--of so old a friend." Her most winning voice was as good a servant as ever; the touch of scorn in it was enough to stimulate, but not to sting; and it was the same with the sudden light in the steady intellectual eyes.
"Catherine," I said, "you can't indeed ask any favour of me! There you are quite right.