Greta looked down at her hands as though expecting to be able to hand the telegram over to speak for itself, only to find it, to her surprise, reduced to the fineness of stage snow.
"He has been telegraphing me for days to come home. I didn't realize it meant—this!"
"Perhaps it's not so bad as you think. Let us send them a message, reply paid. And you'll see. The news will be better."
Miss Greta shook her head. "I have put it off too long already," she said faintly. "There is the slenderest chance of my finding him alive." Suddenly she pressed her handkerchief to her lips.
"Darling Greta, do, do let me telegraph!"
Miss von Schwarzenberg drew herself up. She rose. She stood like the heroine in Act III. "I am a soldier's daughter. I obey." She went toward the stairs.
CHAPTER XVI
Mr. Singleton turned round, watch in hand.
"You could catch the seven-two," he said politely.