“That’s more like ‘’Eres to yer,’ Mr. D——” remarked the good man—outside the door. “And don’t yer werry about trifles o’ chainge. Be a gent!”
Lucille read and re-read the telegram in many ways.
“Can do so. Cheer up. Writing his adjutant. Pal of mine coming over Saturday. If get leave going Shorncliffe if necessary leave due Dam. All right will blow over thanks.” No, that wouldn’t do.
(What a pity people would not remember when writing telegrams that the stops and capitals they put are ignored by the operators.)
At last, the wish being father to the thought, she decided it to be “Can do” (she knew that to be a navy expression). “So cheer up. Writing. His adjutant a pal of mine. Coming over Saturday if I get leave. Going Shorncliffe if necessary. Leave due. Dam all right. Will blow over. Thanks for letting me help.” Which was not far wrong.
Dear old Ormonde! She knew he would not fail her—although he had been terribly cut up by her rejection of his suit and by his belief that Dam had let him haunt her in the knowledge that she was his own private property, secured to him.
Having dispatched his telegram and interviewed his Adjutant, Captain, and Colonel, Mr. Delorme sat him down and wrote to Lieutenant the Honourable Reginald Montague Despencer, Adjutant of the Queen’s Greys:—
“MY DEAR MONTY,