“‘Nothing to brag about, sir.’
“‘Do you know that you saved my life?’
“‘Well, sir,’ said Bobbie with great respect, ‘I’m not sorry to have paid back a bit of what I owe.’
“‘Mr. West,’ remarked the Admiral, turning to me, ‘let the English people know something about this. I will look after the lad, but you, too, can do something.’
“The doctor tells me that the blade was poisoned at the tip—”
Beatrice Bell’s hand tightened her hold, and the white speckled blouse stilled for a moment.
“And that Lancaster’s smartness and resource alone saved the wound from becoming dangerous. Lancaster wants you to call on his sweetheart and tell her all about it, because for a few weeks he will not be able to write. I shall be home, my dearest, in less than a month, and when I see you—”
“That is all about Bobbie,” said Mrs. Myddleton West, stopping. “What do you think of it all, dear?”
“I could no more,” declared Miss Bell, “explain to you what I think, ma’am, than I could fly. I’m too thankful to talk much.” The girl looked wistfully at the sheets of rustling note paper. “You’d think I’d got impudence,” she said hesitatingly, “if I told you, though, what I’ve got in my mind.”
“Tell me!”