“I have spoken to the Duchesse of the Maine disaster.”
The eyes of Sogrange gleamed for a moment, but he lay perfectly still.
“Why not?” he asked. “A good many people are talking about it. It is one of the strangest things I have ever heard of, that after all these years they should be trying to salve the wreck.”
“It seems worse than strange,” Peter declared. “What can be the use of trying to stir up bitter feelings between two nations who have fought their battles and buried the hatchet? I call it an act of insanity.”
A bugle rang. Sogrange yawned and sat up.
“Would you mind touching the bell for my servant, Baron,” he asked. “Dinner will be served in half an hour. Afterwards, we will talk, you and I.”
Peter turned away, not wholly pleased.
“The sooner, the better,” he grumbled, “or I shall be putting my foot into it again.”...
After dinner, the two men walked on deck together. The night was dark but fine, with a strong wind blowing from the northwest. The deck steward called their attention to a long line of lights, stealing up from the horizon on their starboard side.
“That’s the Lusitania, sir. She’ll be up to us in half an hour.”