'I am sorry to disturb you, Theo,' she repeated.
'Not at all,' he said. 'Why should you be? It is ten o'clock; I have been asleep two hours. What more could I require?'
'I have kept some breakfast warm for you,' she said, turning towards the table; 'but I awakened you because of these. There are four telegrams and a number of letters for you. Hans Olsen brought them off just now. He got them yesterday from the Bergen boat. We are out of the Heimdalfjord now, and Nielsen has gone. I ... only hope ... it is not war, Theo!'
He stood up and took the telegrams and letters from her hands. Then he crossed the saloon towards the table.
'It looks rather like it,' he said coolly.
He raised the cover of the dish which the steward had just placed upon the table, and Brenda, taking the hint, poured out his coffee.
She walked away from him a little and stood quite motionless, with her back turned towards him, while he tore open the thin white telegraph envelopes. One ... two ... three ... four of them, spreading the paper out upon the tablecloth. Her quick ears caught each sound, and enabled her to picture every movement made by this indifferent man.
'Yes, Brenda, it ... is ... war!'
She turned slowly and approached the table. Bending over it, she attended to his requirements in a deftly graceful way, grouping round him the toast, butter, and marmalade. He was studying a telegram spread out before him, but his fixed eyes did not appear to be taking in the purport of words written in uneven type. Furtively he looked towards her hands, and then slowly upward, terminating in one scrutinizing glance into her face.
'Where?' she asked, sitting down rather hastily opposite to him.