“Because you won’t go out when you are invited, except among the old married folk of the regiment. I can introduce you to one or two really suitable young women, with good looks, a little money, and no nonsense about them. There is Flora Davey! Why, her father commanded the 25th Bengal Cavalry. You remember him. She was born in Lahore?”
“Yes; and I was at her christening,” he supplemented grimly. “No, no! that would never work. Thank you, old man, I believe I’ll stay as I am.”
“But look here, Pat, you remember when I got that crack on my head at polo and was shunted home—years ago: it nearly broke my heart, but matrimony cured me. I met Maudie on the Riviera my first winter—and she took to me and I to her. You see, I was an invalid, and she pitied me, and talked over her rich old pater. People said nasty things, and it was a lie; I married Maudie for herself only, though money is certainly a power. Now the old man is gone, she has a clear three thousand a year, and I have come into a comfortable legacy. Maudie is a confirmed match-maker, and tries her best to settle her friends.”
“Yes, like the fox who lost his tail,” remarked the bachelor.
“Bar jokes, come along and dine with us quietly on Friday.”
Colonel Doran hesitated; he knocked the ash off his cigar reflectively and then began—
“You are very kind, Johnny, old man, but——”
“Oh, no, I’m not going to make up a match for you on the spot—no fear: but just take a look at me and mine—as a practical illustration of my argument—no party: I want you and Maudie to get to know one another better—she likes you so much——”
“All right, then, I’ll come—thanks. Friday did you say?” and he took out a little pocket-book. “Friday, 13th, at 8 o’clock, 402 Sloane Street.”
“Now, remember, you are engaged to us to a tête-à-tête dinner. I must be off; I’m taking the Mem Sahib to a theatre, and we dine early. You ought to look in yourself; it’s rather fun—The Old Bachelor’s Blunder.”