"It's a cable from Curtiss," he said, and passed it over to me.
"Oceanic delayed engine break-down," I read. "Reached Liverpool five hours after Umbria. Missed Marcia but searching for her. Cable care Hotel Adelphi."
Mr. Royce sat for a moment drumming nervously upon his chair-arm.
"He hasn't any chance of finding her in a place like that," he said, at last. "Most probably she's gone on to London."
"Or to some place on the continent. There must be many places where she'd feel at home."
"What would we better do? Shall we write out the story and mail it to Curtiss? He'll get it in a week."
"He won't stay at Liverpool a week," I objected. "The letter might go astray, and be opened by some one who had no right to read it."
"We might cable a mere outline."
I thought it over; but somehow my point of view had changed. Now that I knew the story, it seemed to me that it was Marcia Lawrence's right to decide what step should be taken next. Once she had recovered her self-poise, she would see what course was best, and I was certain that she would be brave enough, strong enough, to follow it unshrinking to the end.
"Let us wait," I said. "A little delay can do no harm; just as haste can do no good."