FROM RUPERT'S JOURNAL.
July 14, 1907.
For nearly a week we waited for some message from Constantinople,
fully expecting either a declaration of war, or else some inquiry so
couched as to make war an inevitable result. The National Council
remained on at Vissarion as the guests of the Voivode, to whom, in
accordance with my uncle's will, I had prepared to re-transfer all
his estates. He was, by the way, unwilling at first to accept, and
it was only when I showed him Uncle Roger's letter, and made him read
the Deed of Transfer prepared in anticipation by Mr. Trent, that he
allowed me to persuade him. Finally he said:
"As you, my good friends, have so arranged, I must accept, be it only
in honour to the wishes of the dead. But remember, I only do so but
for the present, reserving to myself the freedom to withdraw later if
I so desire."
But Constantinople was silent. The whole nefarious scheme was one of
the "put-up jobs" which are part of the dirty work of a certain order
of statecraft--to be accepted if successful; to be denied in case of
failure.
The matter stood thus: Turkey had thrown the dice--and lost. Her
men were dead; her ship was forfeit. It was only some ten days after
the warship was left derelict with every living thing--that is,
everything that had been living--with its neck broken, as Rooke
informed me, when he brought the ship down the creek, and housed it
in the dock behind the armoured gates--that we saw an item in The
Roma copied from The Constantinople Journal of July 9:
"LOSS OF AN OTTOMAN IRONCLAD WITH ALL HANDS.
"News has been received at Constantinople of the total loss, with all
hands, of one of the newest and finest warships in the Turkish fleet-
-The Mahmoud, Captain Ali Ali--which foundered in a storm on the
night of July 5, some distance off Cabrera, in the Balearic Isles.
There were no survivors, and no wreckage was discovered by the ships
which went in relief--the Pera and the Mustapha--or reported from
anywhere along the shores of the islands, of which exhaustive search
was made. The Mahmoud was double-manned, as she carried a full extra
crew sent on an educational cruise on the most perfectly
scientifically equipped warship on service in the Mediterranean
waters."
When the Voivode and I talked over the matter, he said:
"After all, Turkey is a shrewd Power. She certainly seems to know
when she is beaten, and does not intend to make a bad thing seem
worse in the eyes of the world."
Well, 'tis a bad wind that blows good to nobody. As The Mahmoud was
lost off the Balearics, it cannot have been her that put the
marauders on shore and trained her big guns on Ilsin. We take it,
therefore, that the latter must have been a pirate, and as we have
taken her derelict in our waters, she is now ours in all ways.
Anyhow, she is ours, and is the first ship of her class in the navy
of the Blue Mountains. I am inclined to think that even if she was--
or is still--a Turkish ship, Admiral Rooke would not be inclined to
let her go. As for Captain Desmond, I think he would go straight out
of his mind if such a thing was to be even suggested to him.
It will be a pity if we have any more trouble, for life here is very
happy with us all now. The Voivode is, I think, like a man in a
dream. Teuta is ideally happy, and the real affection which sprang
up between them when she and Aunt Janet met is a joy to think of. I
had posted Teuta about her, so that when they should meet my wife
might not, by any inadvertence, receive or cause any pain. But the
moment Teuta saw her she ran straight over to her and lifted her in
her strong young arms, and, raising her up as one would lift a child,
kissed her. Then, when she had put her sitting in the chair from
which she had arisen when we entered the room, she knelt down before
her, and put her face down in her lap. Aunt Janet's face was a
study; I myself could hardly say whether at the first moment surprise
or joy predominated. But there could be no doubt about it the
instant after. She seemed to beam with happiness. When Teuta knelt
to her, she could only say:
"My dear, my dear, I am glad! Rupert's wife, you and I must love
each other very much." Seeing that they were laughing and crying in
each other's arms, I thought it best to come away and leave them
alone. And I didn't feel a bit lonely either when I was out of sight
of them. I knew that where those two dear women were there was a
place for my own heart.
When I came back, Teuta was sitting on Aunt Janet's knee. It seemed
rather stupendous for the old lady, for Teuta is such a splendid
creature that even when she sits on my own knee and I catch a glimpse
of us in some mirror, I cannot but notice what a nobly-built girl she
is.
My wife was jumping up as soon as I was seen, but Aunt Janet held her
tight to her, and said:
"Don't stir, dear. It is such happiness to me to have you there.
Rupert has always been my 'little boy,' and, in spite of all his
being such a giant, he is so still. And so you, that he loves, must
be my little girl--in spite of all your beauty and your strength--and
sit on my knee, till you can place there a little one that shall be
dear to us all, and that shall let me feel my youth again. When
first I saw you I was surprised, for, somehow, though I had never
seen you nor even heard of you, I seemed to know your face. Sit
where you are, dear. It is only Rupert--and we both love him."
Teuta looked at me, flushing rosily; but she sat quiet, and drew the
old lady's white head on her young breast.
JANET MACKELPIE'S NOTES.
July 8, 1907.
I used to think that whenever Rupert should get married or start on
the way to it by getting engaged--I would meet his future wife with
something of the same affection that I have always had for himself.
But I know now that what was really in my mind was jealousy, and that
I was really fighting against my own instincts, and pretending to
myself that I was not jealous. Had I ever had the faintest idea that
she would be anything the least like Teuta, that sort of feeling
should never have had even a foothold. No wonder my dear boy is in
love with her, for, truth to tell, I am in love with her myself. I
don't think I ever met a creature--a woman creature, of course, I
mean--with so many splendid qualities. I almost fear to say it, lest
it should seem to myself wrong; but I think she is as good as a woman
as Rupert is as a man. And what more than that can I say? I thought
I loved her and trusted her, and knew her all I could, until this
morning.
I was in my own room, as it is still called. For, though Rupert
tells me in confidence that under his uncle's will the whole estate
of Vissarion, Castle and all, really belongs to the Voivode, and
though the Voivode has been persuaded to accept the position, he (the
Voivode) will not allow anything to be changed. He will not even
hear a word of my going, or changing my room, or anything. And
Rupert backs him up in it, and Teuta too. So what am I to do but let
the dears have their way?
Well, this morning, when Rupert was with the Voivode at a meeting of
the National Council in the Great Hall, Teuta came to me, and (after
closing the door and bolting it, which surprised me a little) came
and knelt down beside me, and put her face in my lap. I stroked her
beautiful black hair, and said:
"What is it, Teuta darling? Is there any trouble? And why did you
bolt the door? Has anything happened to Rupert?" When she looked up
I saw that her beautiful black eyes, with the stars in them, were
overflowing with tears not yet shed. But she smiled through them,
and the tears did not fall. When I saw her smile my heart was eased,
and I said without thinking: "Thank God, darling, Rupert is all
right."
"I thank God, too, dear Aunt Janet!" she said softly; and I took her
in my arms and laid her head on my breast.
"Go on, dear," I said; "tell me what it is that troubles you?" This
time I saw the tears drop, as she lowered her head and hid her face
from me.
"I'm afraid I have deceived you, Aunt Janet, and that you will not--
cannot--forgive me."
"Lord save you, child!" I said, "there's nothing that you could do
that I could not and would not forgive. Not that you would ever do
anything base, for that is the only thing that is hard to forgive.
Tell me now what troubles you."
She looked up in my eyes fearlessly, this time with only the signs of
tears that had been, and said proudly:
"Nothing base, Aunt Janet. My father's daughter would not willingly
be base. I do not think she could. Moreover, had I ever done
anything base I should not be here, for--for--I should never have
been Rupert's wife!"
"Then what is it? Tell your old Aunt Janet, dearie." She answered
me with another question:
"Aunt Janet, do you know who I am, and how I first met Rupert?"
"You are the Voivodin Teuta Vissarion--the daughter of the Voivode--
Or, rather, you were; you are now Mrs. Rupert Sent Leger. For he is
still an Englishman, and a good subject of our noble King."
"Yes, Aunt Janet," she said, "I am that, and proud to be it--prouder
than I would be were I my namesake, who was Queen in the old days.
But how and where did I see Rupert first?" I did not know, and
frankly told her so. So she answered her question herself:
"I saw him first in his own room at night." I knew in my heart that
in whatever she did had been nothing wrong, so I sat silent waiting
for her to go on:
"I was in danger, and in deadly fear. I was afraid I might die--not
that I fear death--and I wanted help and warmth. I was not dressed
as I am now!"
On the instant it came to me how I knew her face, even the first time
I had seen it. I wished to help her out of the embarrassing part of
her confidence, so I said:
"Dearie, I think I know. Tell me, child, will you put on the frock .
. . the dress . . . costume you wore that night, and let me see you
in it? It is not mere idle curiosity, my child, but something far,
far above such idle folly."
"Wait for me a minute, Aunt Janet," she said, as she rose up; "I
shall not be long." Then she left the room.
In a very few minutes she was back. Her appearance might have
frightened some people, for she was clad only in a shroud. Her feet
were bare, and she walked across the room with the gait of an
empress, and stood before me with her eyes modestly cast down. But
when presently she looked up and caught my eyes, a smile rippled over
her face. She threw herself once more before me on her knees, and
embraced me as she said:
"I was afraid I might frighten you, dear." I knew I could truthfully
reassure her as to that, so I proceeded to do so:
"Do not worry yourself, my dear. I am not by nature timid. I come
of a fighting stock which has sent out heroes, and I belong to a
family wherein is the gift of Second Sight. Why should we fear? We
know! Moreover, I saw you in that dress before. Teuta, I saw you
and Rupert married!" This time she herself it was that seemed
disconcerted.
"Saw us married! How on earth did you manage to be there?"
"I was not there. My Seeing was long before! Tell me, dear, what
day, or rather what night, was it that you first saw Rupert?" She
answered sadly:
"I do not know. Alas! I lost count of the days as I lay in the tomb
in that dreary Crypt."
"Was your--your clothing wet that night?" I asked.
"Yes. I had to leave the Crypt, for a great flood was out, and the
church was flooded. I had to seek help--warmth--for I feared I might
die. Oh, I was not, as I have told you, afraid of death. But I had
undertaken a terrible task to which I had pledged myself. It was for
my father's sake, and the sake of the Land, and I felt that it was a
part of my duty to live. And so I lived on, when death would have
been relief. It was to tell you all about this that I came to your
room to-day. But how did you see me--us--married?"
"Ah, my child!" I answered, "that was before the marriage took place.
The morn after the night that you came in the wet, when, having been
troubled in uncanny dreaming, I came to see if Rupert was a'richt, I
lost remembrance o' my dreaming, for the floor was all wet, and that
took off my attention. But later, the morn after Rupert used his
fire in his room for the first time, I told him what I had dreamt;
for, lassie, my dear, I saw ye as bride at that weddin' in fine lace
o'er yer shrood, and orange-flowers and ithers in yer black hair; an'
I saw the stars in yer bonny een--the een I love. But oh, my dear,
when I saw the shrood, and kent what it might mean, I expeckit to see
the worms crawl round yer feet. But do ye ask yer man to tell ye
what I tell't him that morn. 'Twill interest ye to know how the
hairt o' men can learn by dreams. Has he ever tellt ye aught o'
this?"
"No, dear," she said simply. "I think that perhaps he was afraid
that one or other of us, if not both, might be upset by it if he did.
You see, he did not tell you anything at all of our meeting, though I
am sure that he will be glad when he knows that we both know all
about it, and have told each other everything."
That was very sweet of her, and very thoughtful in all ways, so I
said that which I thought would please her best--that is, the truth:
"Ah, lassie, that is what a wife should be--what a wife should do.
Rupert is blessed and happy to have his heart in your keeping."
I knew from the added warmth of her kiss what I had said had pleased
her.
Letter from Ernest Roger Halbard Melton, Humcroft, Salop, to Rupert
Sent Leger, Vissarion, Land of the Blue Mountains.
July 29, 1907.
MY DEAR COUSIN RUPERT,
We have heard such glowing accounts of Vissarion that I am coming out
to see you. As you are yourself now a landowner, you will understand
that my coming is not altogether a pleasure. Indeed, it is a duty
first. When my father dies I shall be head of the family--the family
of which Uncle Roger, to whom we were related, was a member. It is
therefore meet and fitting that I should know something of our family
branches and of their Seats. I am not giving you time for much
warning, so am coming on immediately--in fact, I shall arrive almost
as soon as this letter. But I want to catch you in the middle of
your tricks. I hear that the Blue Mountaineer girls are peaches, so
don't send them ALL away when you hear I'm coming!
Do send a yacht up to Fiume to meet me. I hear you have all sorts of
craft at Vissarion. The MacSkelpie, I hear, said you received her as
a Queen; so I hope you will do the decent by one of your own flesh
and blood, and the future Head of the House at that. I shan't bring
much of a retinue with me. _I_ wasn't made a billionaire by old
Roger, so can only take my modest "man Friday"--whose name is
Jenkinson, and a Cockney at that. So don't have too much gold lace
and diamond-hilted scimitars about, like a good chap, or else he'll
want the very worst--his wyges ryzed. That old image Rooke that came
over for Miss McS., and whom by chance I saw at the attorney man's,
might pilot me down from Fiume. The old gentleman-by-Act-of-
Parliament Mr. Bingham Trent (I suppose he has hyphened it by this
time) told me that Miss McS. said he "did her proud" when she went
over under his charge. I shall be at Fiume on the evening of
Wednesday, and shall stay at the Europa, which is, I am told, the
least indecent hotel in the place. So you know where to find me, or
any of your attendant demons can know, in case I am to suffer
"substituted service."
Your affectionate Cousin,
ERNEST ROGER HALBARD MELTON.
Letter from Admiral Rooke to the Gospodar Rupert.
August 1, 1907.
SIR,
In obedience to your explicit direction that I should meet Mr. Ernest
R. H. Melton at Fiume, and report to you exactly what occurred,
"without keeping anything back,"--as you will remember you said, I
beg to report.
I brought the steam-yacht Trent to Fiume, arriving there on the
morning of Thursday. At 11.30 p.m. I went to meet the train from
St. Peter, due 11.40. It was something late, arriving just as the
clock was beginning to strike midnight. Mr. Melton was on board, and
with him his valet Jenkinson. I am bound to say that he did not seem
very pleased with his journey, and expressed much disappointment at
not seeing Your Honour awaiting him. I explained, as you directed,
that you had to attend with the Voivode Vissarion and the Vladika the
National Council, which met at Plazac, or that otherwise you would
have done yourself the pleasure of coming to meet him. I had, of
course, reserved rooms (the Prince of Wales's suite), for him at the
Re d'Ungheria, and had waiting the carriage which the proprietor had
provided for the Prince of Wales when he stayed there. Mr. Melton
took his valet with him (on the box-seat), and I followed in a
Stadtwagen with the luggage. When I arrived, I found the maitre
d'hotel in a stupor of concern. The English nobleman, he said, had
found fault with everything, and used to him language to which he was
not accustomed. I quieted him, telling him that the stranger was
probably unused to foreign ways, and assuring him that Your Honour
had every faith in him. He announced himself satisfied and happy at
the assurance. But I noticed that he promptly put everything in the
hands of the headwaiter, telling him to satisfy the milor at any
cost, and then went away to some urgent business in Vienna. Clever
man!
I took Mr. Melton's orders for our journey in the morning, and asked
if there was anything for which he wished. He simply said to me:
"Everything is rotten. Go to hell, and shut the door after you!"
His man, who seems a very decent little fellow, though he is as vain
as a peacock, and speaks with a Cockney accent which is simply
terrible, came down the passage after me, and explained "on his own,"
as he expressed it, that his master, "Mr. Ernest," was upset by the
long journey, and that I was not to mind. I did not wish to make him
uncomfortable, so I explained that I minded nothing except what Your
Honour wished; that the steam-yacht would be ready at 7 a.m.; and
that I should be waiting in the hotel from that time on till Mr.
Melton cared to start, to bring him aboard.
In the morning I waited till the man Jenkinson came and told me that
Mr. Ernest would start at ten. I asked if he would breakfast on
board; he answered that he would take his cafe-complet at the hotel,
but breakfast on board.
We left at ten, and took the electric pinnace out to the Trent, which
lay, with steam up, in the roads. Breakfast was served on board, by
his orders, and presently he came up on the bridge, where I was in
command. He brought his man Jenkinson with him. Seeing me there,
and not (I suppose) understanding that I was in command, he
unceremoniously ordered me to go on the deck. Indeed, he named a
place much lower. I made a sign of silence to the quartermaster at
the wheel, who had released the spokes, and was going, I feared, to
make some impertinent remark. Jenkinson joined me presently, and
said, as some sort of explanation of his master's discourtesy (of
which he was manifestly ashamed), if not as an amende:
"The governor is in a hell of a wax this morning."
When we got in sight of Meleda, Mr. Melton sent for me and asked me
where we were to land. I told him that, unless he wished to the
contrary, we were to run to Vissarion; but that my instructions were
to land at whatever port he wished. Whereupon he told me that he
wished to stay the night at some place where he might be able to see
some "life." He was pleased to add something, which I presume he
thought jocular, about my being able to "coach" him in such matters,
as doubtless even "an old has-been like you" had still some sort of
an eye for a pretty girl. I told him as respectfully as I could that
I had no knowledge whatever on such subjects, which were possibly of
some interest to younger men, but of none to me. He said no more; so
after waiting for further orders, but without receiving any, I said:
"I suppose, sir, we shall run to Vissarion?"
"Run to the devil, if you like!" was his reply, as he turned away.
When we arrived in the creek at Vissarion, he seemed much milder--
less aggressive in his manner; but when he heard that you were
detained at Plazac, he got rather "fresh"--I use the American term--
again. I greatly feared there would be a serious misfortune before
we got into the Castle, for on the dock was Julia, the wife of
Michael, the Master of the Wine, who is, as you know, very beautiful.
Mr. Melton seemed much taken with her; and she, being flattered by
the attention of a strange gentleman and Your Honour's kinsman, put
aside the stand-offishness of most of the Blue Mountain women.
Whereupon Mr. Melton, forgetting himself, took her in his arms and
kissed her. Instantly there was a hubbub. The mountaineers present
drew their handjars, and almost on the instant sudden death appeared
to be amongst us. Happily the men waited as Michael, who had just
arrived on the quay-wall as the outrage took place, ran forward,
wheeling his handjar round his head, and manifestly intending to
decapitate Mr. Melton. On the instant--I am sorry to say it, for it
created a terribly bad effect--Mr. Melton dropped on his knees in a
state of panic. There was just this good use in it--that there was a
pause of a few seconds. During that time the little Cockney valet,
who has the heart of a man in him, literally burst his way forward,
and stood in front of his master in boxing attitude, calling out:
"'Ere, come on, the 'ole lot of ye! 'E ain't done no 'arm. He honly
kissed the gal, as any man would. If ye want to cut off somebody's
'ed, cut off mine. I ain't afride!" There was such genuine pluck in
this, and it formed so fine a contrast to the other's craven attitude
(forgive me, Your Honour; but you want the truth!), that I was glad
he was an Englishman, too. The mountaineers recognized his spirit,
and saluted with their handjars, even Michael amongst the number.
Half turning his head, the little man said in a fierce whisper:
"Buck up, guv'nor! Get up, or they'll slice ye! 'Ere's Mr. Rooke;
'e'll see ye through it."
By this time the men were amenable to reason, and when I reminded
them that Mr. Melton was Your Honour's cousin, they put aside their
handjars and went about their work. I asked Mr. Melton to follow,
and led the way to the Castle.
When we got close to the great entrance within the walled courtyard,
we found a large number of the servants gathered, and with them many
of the mountaineers, who have kept an organized guard all round the
Castle ever since the abducting of the Voivodin. As both Your Honour
and the Voivode were away at Plazac, the guard had for the time been
doubled. When the steward came and stood in the doorway, the
servants stood off somewhat, and the mountaineers drew back to the
farther sides and angles of the courtyard. The Voivodin had, of
course, been informed of the guest's (your cousin) coming, and came
to meet him in the old custom of the Blue Mountains. As Your Honour
only came to the Blue Mountains recently, and as no occasion has been
since then of illustrating the custom since the Voivode was away, and
the Voivodin then believed to be dead, perhaps I, who have lived here
so long, may explain:
When to an old Blue Mountain house a guest comes whom it is wished to
do honour, the Lady, as in the vernacular the mistress of the house
is called, comes herself to meet the guest at the door--or, rather,
OUTSIDE the door--so that she can herself conduct him within. It is
a pretty ceremony, and it is said that of old in kingly days the
monarch always set much store by it. The custom is that, when she
approaches the honoured guest (he need not be royal), she bends--or
more properly kneels--before him and kisses his hand. It has been
explained by historians that the symbolism is that the woman, showing
obedience to her husband, as the married woman of the Blue Mountains
always does, emphasizes that obedience to her husband's guest. The
custom is always observed in its largest formality when a young wife
receives for the first time a guest, and especially one whom her
husband wishes to honour. The Voivodin was, of course, aware that
Mr. Melton was your kinsman, and naturally wished to make the
ceremony of honour as marked as possible, so as to show overtly her
sense of her husband's worth.
When we came into the courtyard, I held back, of course, for the
honour is entirely individual, and is never extended to any other, no
matter how worthy he may be. Naturally Mr. Melton did not know the
etiquette of the situation, and so for that is not to be blamed. He
took his valet with him when, seeing someone coming to the door, he
went forward. I thought he was going to rush to his welcomer. Such,
though not in the ritual, would have been natural in a young kinsman
wishing to do honour to the bride of his host, and would to anyone
have been both understandable and forgivable. It did not occur to me
at the time, but I have since thought that perhaps he had not then
heard of Your Honour's marriage, which I trust you will, in justice
to the young gentleman, bear in mind when considering the matter.
Unhappily, however, he did not show any such eagerness. On the
contrary, he seemed to make a point of showing indifference. It
seemed to me myself that he, seeing somebody wishing to make much of
him, took what he considered a safe opportunity of restoring to
himself his own good opinion, which must have been considerably
lowered in the episode of the Wine Master's wife.
The Voivodin, thinking, doubtless, Your Honour, to add a fresh lustre
to her welcome, had donned the costume which all her nation has now
come to love and to accept as a dress of ceremonial honour. She wore
her shroud. It moved the hearts of all of us who looked on to see
it, and we appreciated its being worn for such a cause. But Mr.
Melton did not seem to care. As he had been approaching she had
begun to kneel, and was already on her knees whilst he was several
yards away. There he stopped and turned to speak to his valet, put a
glass in his eye, and looked all round him and up and down--indeed,
everywhere except at the Great Lady, who was on her knees before him,
waiting to bid him welcome. I could see in the eyes of such of the
mountaineers as were within my range of vision a growing animosity;
so, hoping to keep down any such expression, which I knew would cause
harm to Your Honour and the Voivodin, I looked all round them
straight in their faces with a fixed frown, which, indeed, they
seemed to understand, for they regained, and for the time maintained,
their usual dignified calm. The Voivodin, may I say, bore the trial
wonderfully. No human being could see that she was in any degree
pained or even surprised. Mr. Melton stood looking round him so long
that I had full time to regain my own attitude of calm. At last he
seemed to come back to the knowledge that someone was waiting for
him, and sauntered leisurely forward. There was so much insolence--
mind you, not insolence that was intended to appear as such--in his
movement that the mountaineers began to steal forward. When he was
close up to the Voivodin, and she put out her hand to take his, he
put forward ONE FINGER! I could hear the intake of the breath of the
men, now close around, for I had moved forward, too. I thought it
would be as well to be close to your guest, lest something should
happen to him. The Voivodin still kept her splendid self-control.
Raising the finger put forward by the guest with the same deference
as though it had been the hand of a King, she bent her head down and
kissed it. Her duty of courtesy now done, she was preparing to rise,
when he put his hand into his pocket, and, pulling out a sovereign,
offered it to her. His valet moved his hand forward, as if to pull
back his arm, but it was too late. I am sure, Your Honour, that no
affront was intended. He doubtless thought that he was doing a
kindness of the sort usual in England when one "tips" a housekeeper.
But all the same, to one in her position, it was an affront, an
insult, open and unmistakable. So it was received by the
mountaineers, whose handjars flashed out as one. For a second it was
so received even by the Voivodin, who, with face flushing scarlet,
and the stars in her eves flaming red, sprang to her feet. But in
that second she had regained herself, and to all appearances her
righteous anger passed away. Stooping, she took the hand of her
guest and raised it--you know how strong she is--and, holding it in
hers, led him into the doorway, saying:
"You are welcome, kinsman of my husband, to the house of my father,
which is presently my husband's also. Both are grieved that, duty
having called them away for the time, they are unable to be here to
help me to greet you."
I tell you, Your Honour, that it was a lesson in self-respect which
anyone who saw it can never forget. As to me, it makes my flesh
quiver, old as I am, with delight, and my heart leap.
May I, as a faithful servant who has had many years of experience,
suggest that Your Honour should seem--for the present, at any rate--
not to know any of these things which I have reported, as you wished
me to do. Be sure that the Voivodin will tell you her gracious self
aught that she would wish you to know. And such reticence on your
part must make for her happiness, even if it did not for your own.
So that you may know all, as you desired, and that you may have time
to school yourself to whatever attitude you think best to adopt, I
send this off to you at once by fleet messenger. Were the aeroplane
here, I should take it myself. I leave here shortly to await the
arrival of Sir Colin at Otranto.
Your Honour's faithful servant,
ROOKE.
