“Did the last one go to Bar Harbor, too?  How came you to receive it when we did not get ours?”

“It did not go to Bar Harbor.  I gave him the address of my lawyers in New York, and they forwarded it to me here.  Lieutenant Drummond was ordered home by some one who had authority to do so, and received the message while he was sitting with me on the night of the ball.  He had got into trouble with Russia.  There had been an investigation, and he was acquitted.  I saw that he was rather worried over the order home and I expressed my sympathy as well as I could, hoping everything would turn out for the best.  He asked if he might write and let me know the outcome, and, being interested, I quite willingly gave him permission, and my address.  The letter I received was all about a committee meeting at the Admiralty in which he took part.  He wrote to me from the club in Pall Mall to which I have addressed this cablegram.”

There was a sly dimple in Katherine’s cheeks as she listened to this straightforward explanation, and the faintest possible suspicion of a smile flickered at the corner of her mouth.  She murmured, rather than sang: 

“‘A pair of lovesick maidens we.’”

“One, if you please,” interrupted Dorothy.

“’Lovesick all against our will—­ ’”

“Only one.”

“’Twenty years hence we shan’t be
A pair of lovesick maidens still.’”

“I am pleased to note,” said Dorothy demurely, “that the letter written by the Prince to your father has brought you back to the Gilbert and Sullivan plane again, although in this fairy glen you should quote from Iolanthe rather than from Patience.”

“Yes, Dot, this spot might do for a cove in the ‘Pirates of Penzance,’ only we’re too far from the sea.  But, to return to the matter in hand, I don’t think there will be any need to send that cablegram.  I don’t like the idea of a cablegram, anyhow.  I will return to the hotel, and dictate to my frivolous father a serious composition quite as stately and formal as that received from the Prince.  He will address it and seal it, and then if you are kind enough to enclose it in the next letter you send to Lieutenant Drummond, it will be sure to reach Jack Lamont ultimately.”

Dorothy sprang from the hammock to the ground.

“Oh,” she cried eagerly, “I’ll go into the hotel with you and write my letter at once.”

Katherine smiled, took her by the arm, and said: 

“You’re a dear girl, Dorothy.  I’ll race you to the hotel, as soon as we are through this thicket.”

CHAPTER IX

 In Russia

The next letter Dorothy received bore Russian stamps, and was dated at the black-smith’s shop, Bolshoi Prospect, St. Petersburg.  After a few preliminaries, which need not be set down here, Drummond continued: