The girl's diversion was sufficient to take interest momentarily from General Crandall's revelation. When all had clustered around the windows, conversation skipped to the fleet, its power, and the men who were ready to do battle behind its hundreds of guns. Mrs. Sherman was disappointed that the ships did not send up rockets. She'd read somewhere that ships sent up rockets, and she didn't see why these should prove the exception. Interruption came from Jaimihr Khan, who bore a message for Consul Reynolds. The fussy little man ripped open the envelope with an air of importance.
"Ah, listen, folks! Here we have the latest wireless from the Saxonia. 'Will anchor about two—sail six. Have all passengers aboard by five-thirty.'" Excited gurgles from the refugees. "That means," Reynolds wound up, with a flourish, "everybody at the docks by five o'clock. Be there myself, to see you off. Must go now—lot of fuss and feathers getting everybody fixed." He paused before Jane.
"You're going home at last, young lady," he chirped.
"That depends entirely on Miss Gerson herself." It was the general who spoke quietly but emphatically.
Reynolds looked at him, surprised.
"Why, I understood it was all arranged——"
"I repeat, it depends entirely on Miss Gerson."
Woodhouse caught the look of fear in Jane's eyes, and, as they fell for the instant on his, something else—appeal. He turned his head quickly. Lady Crandall saved the situation.
"Oh, that's just some more of George's eternal red tape. I'll snip it when the time comes."
The consul's departure was the signal for the others. They crowded around Lady Crandall and her husband with voluble praise for the American dinner and thanks for the courtesy they had found on the Rock. Woodhouse, after a last despairing effort to have a word of farewell with Jane, which she denied, turned to make his adieu to his host and hostess.