Worthington gave a little faint nod in the direction of the telegram that was still unopened.
“Your mater!”
“No; she wrote to me. She hates telegrams, says they’re public property. I wonder who it is.”
He pushed a forefinger under the envelope, tore it and pulled out the telegram.
“The forgotten do not always forget. May Allah have you and all brave men in His hand.—CYNTHIA CLARKE.”
Dion felt Worthington’s observant eyes upon him, looked up and met them as the “Ariosto” rolled and creaked in the heavy gray wash of the sea.
“Funny!” he jerked out.
Worthington lifted inquiring eyebrows but evidently hesitated to speak just then.
“It’s from Mrs. Clarke.”
“Beastly of her!” tipped out Worthington. “What—she say?”