“Wouldn’t you like to go and smoke in the dining-room?” suggested Mrs. Ramsay. “Jim, I’ll ring for Mary to light the lamp, she does not know you are in.”
“No, no, I’ll go myself,” and he shuffled into the hall.
“He has taken you for some one else, of course, poor fellow!” she said, turning quickly to Wynyard, and speaking under her breath.
“Yes,” he answered, “for my father—but please keep this to yourself—I’ve always heard I am extraordinarily like him.”
“Then humour him, humour him, do. You see how bright and happy this imaginary meeting has made him. Oh, it will be so kind of you to talk to him of India—he loves it—how I wish you knew the country—you must pretend, and I will coach you. Lucknow is very hot, and gay, not far——”
“But I needn’t pretend,” he broke in, “I know the country—yes—and Lucknow too. I was there with my father’s old regiment.”
She stared at him for a moment in bewildered astonishment.
“I say, you won’t give me away, will you?” he added anxiously.
“No; is it likely? If you will only come and talk to him of an evening now and then, it will be truly one of the good deeds that will be scored up to you in heaven. Ah, here he is, and the lamp.”
“Now come along, Owen,” he said briskly. “Here you are, I’ve got my best tobacco for you. Let’s have a bukh!”