CHAPTER X
Eagerly, breathlessly, Helen tore open the cablegram.
It was late Saturday afternoon and she had been with Ray and Mr. Steell to see some paintings—a private view of a remarkable collection of old masters. After having tea at the Plaza they had taken a brisk walk through the Park, the lawyer insisting that the exercise would do them good.
"It's just come, m'm," said the maid, holding out the thin envelope.
"Oh, it's from Kenneth!" exclaimed Ray excitedly, throwing down her muff and running to look over her sister's shoulder.
For long, dreary weeks Helen had expected, and waited for, this message, and now it had come, she was almost afraid to read it. There were only a few words, cold and formal, the usual matter-of-fact, businesslike phraseology of the so-much-a-word telegram:
CAPE TOWN, Thursday (delay in transmission). Sail to-day on the Abyssinia. All's well. KEN.
"Is that all?" exclaimed Ray, disappointed.
Mr. Steell laughed.
"How much more do you expect at $2 a word?"