egram and
send another, no answer came. Nothing arrived for Di, either; but
apparently she was expecting no wire. She must have had some human
curiosity, if not anxiety, to know the fate of a man who had been as
much to her as Eagle March had been; but she was thinking of his trial,
I suppose, entirely from Sidney Vandyke's point of view, and she had no
uneasiness as to the result for Sidney. As for the papers, though I
quite cleverly managed to find other things than football news, I could
discover nothing about the court-martial on Captain March. I had to tell
myself that perhaps they didn't put such affairs in newspapers, for I
was too ignorant to think of trying to hunt up the army and navy
official journals.

We had been three days in New York in great heat, which Kitty took pains
to tell us was most unseasonable, when one morning a thunderstorm
accompanied by terrific wind came up, preventing us from going out as we
had intended. Kitty's floor at the top of the building, with its steel
supports, actually gave the effect of swaying in the blast like an
overgrown spear of wheat, a phenomenon Kitty took as a matter of course.
So we Britishers had to do the same, no matter how we felt, to show that
we were as brave as Americans. In the midst of the storm the postman's
ring sounded reassuringly, as if to say that we were not cut off from
earth; and a calm maid, used to hanging on insectlike by her antennae to
the top grain on the wheat stalk, quietly presented a silver tray with
letters to her mistress.

"One for dear Diana," Kitty announced, picking up a large purple-sealed
and monogrammed envelope, such as Sidney Vandyke had made peculiarly his
own. And I had only time for a heartbeat before she added, "Two for
little Peggy!"

I never much relished being patronized as "little Peggy" by my would-be
stepmother, but she might safely have called me anything from a
pterodactyl to a hippopotamus just then. I had caught a glimpse of the
uppermost envelope of the two as she doled the letters out. In a flash I
knew that Eagle March had written to me.

Just to save the scarlet flag my cheeks flung out from Father's stare, I
pretended great interest in the other envelope. It had been addressed to
me by Tony.

"My letter is from Sidney. I thought I should have one from him to-day,"
said Di, with the brazen boldness of the legitimately engaged girl who
has a right to expose her feelings. "Now he'll tell me, perhaps, when he