Book 3 Chapter 3

"Dr. Anstice! Is it really--you?"

Iris stood opposite to him with an expression of wondering surprise in her wide grey eyes, and as he held her hand in his Anstice noted the beating of a little blue vein in her temple--a sure sign, with this girl, of some inward agitation which could not be altogether concealed.

"Yes. It is really I." Although he spoke calmly he was to the full as agitated as she, and he could not keep his eager eyes from studying her face, in which he found a dozen new beauties for which their separation had not prepared him. She was a little thinner than he remembered her, but the African sun had kissed her fine skin so warmly that any pallor which might well distinguish her in these troublous days was effectually disguised.

With an effort he relinquished her hand and spoke with well-simulated indifference.

"It was by the merest chance that Sir Richard and I met in Port Said," he said. "I was taking a holiday--the first I've had for years"--he smiled--"and was only too glad to see a familiar face in a strange land."

"And you have given up your holiday to come to our help," she said in a low voice. "You don't know how thankful I am to see you--but for your own sake I wish you had not come."