“Important, well I should think it was. It is the most important——”
“Then I reckon you had better trust it to me,” said Lieutenant Foray.
“Yes,” said Caroline, blushing a vivid crimson, “I reckon I had.”
She handed him the telegram. He opened it, glanced at it, bit his lips to control his emotion, and then his hands reached for the key.
“Oh, stop!” cried Caroline.
Foray looked at her, his eyes full of amusement, his whole body shaking with suppressed laughter, which she was too wrought up to perceive.
“Wait till—I—I don’t want to be here while you spell out every word—I couldn’t stand that.”
Caroline had evidently forgotten that the spelling would be in the Morse Code, and that it would be about as intelligible to her as Sanskrit. The Lieutenant humoured her, and waited while Caroline turned toward the door and summoned Martha to her. She did not leave the room, however, for her way was barred by a young private in a grey uniform. The newcomer looked hastily at her and the old negress, stopped by them, and asked them very respectfully to wait a moment. He then approached Foray, who was impatiently waiting until he could send the message. He saluted him and handed him a written order, and then crossed to the other side of the room. A glance put Foray in possession of the contents of this order. He rose to his feet and approached Caroline still standing by the door.
“Miss Mitford,” he said.
“Yes.”