‘And what are you going to do with yourself this afternoon?’
‘I scarcely know—I am in an idle mood—write to one of the good old aunts in Devonshire, perhaps.’
‘And Gaston?’
‘Gaston will not be seen till to-morrow. He has, in the first place, gone out to breakfast. I was not on the pier when they landed, and Gaston ran quickly up here to dress. I only spoke to him for a few minutes outside the hotel. Colonel de Gourmet had waylaid him on the road, it seems, and invited him to breakfast—off red mullet! The temptation, Gaston said, was irresistible.’
A touch of sarcasm was in Mrs. Arbuthnot’s voice.
‘The Guernsey red mullet is not a bad fish,’ retorted Geff with appreciation.
‘Breakfasting, of course, means spending the day at Colonel de Gourmet’s house—until the hour comes round for afternoon teas! And to-night there is a dinner-party at the Fort. Gaston is forced to be there ... to give some of the Maltshire subalterns a lesson in poker. He will not be back till to-morrow, quite out of consideration for me! Gaston thought me looking pale. He did not wish me to have another broken night.’
The speech was delivered with a kind of staccato airiness. Geoffrey Arbuthnot’s face became graver and graver while Dinah made it.
‘You are reading, I see, as usual. Why, you will be a confirmed bookworm before long.’