He thrust a hand into one of his pockets and brought out four telegrams, one, Rosamund’s, open, the rest unopened. Worthington lay staring at him and them, glad perhaps to be turned for a moment from self-contemplation by any incident, however trifling.
“I’ll bet I know whom they’re from,” said Dion. “One’s from old Guy, one’s from Bruce Evelin, and one’s from——” He paused, fingering the telegrams.
“Eh?” said Worthington, still screwing his lips about.
“Perhaps from Beattie, my sister-in-law, unless she and Guy have clubbed together. Well, let’s see.”
He tore open the first telegram.
“May you have good luck and come back safe and soon.—BEATTIE—GUY.”
He opened the second. It was from Bruce Evelin.
“May you be a happy warrior.—BRUCE EVELIN.”
Dion read it more than once, and his lips quivered for a second. He shot a glance at Worthington, and said, rather bruskly:
“Beatrice and Guy Daventry and Bruce Evelin!”