"I'm dining and doing a theatre with him to-night.—I expect he has got another man and girl,—he is so frightfully proper. Well, my dear, the whole thing will suit me down to the ground; I shall love to go to India, just to see the Land of Regrets, and later on, we'll settle ourselves comfortably in our own county."
"Yes, er ... er ... will you?"
"Why of course,—at Maynesfort—our ancestral home. What fun I shall have turning out the garrets! I believe they are full of lovely old things, hustled away by the late Mrs. Mayne, who was a Victorian lady, and loved crewel-work antimacassars, chromo-lithographs; bead mats, and wax flowers!"
"Is anything settled?" inquired Nancy, with her eyes fixed upon her hairpins.
"Not yet, the fact is there is a little bit of a hitch,—and I believe you are just the one person who can help me,—and that's why I'm here! Oh yes, my dear, although you look so calmly indifferent, and can only throw me a casual yes or no; you knew Derek in India! Tell me honestly, Nancy,—did you ever hear a story about him and a girl? No, don't get so red, I'm not going to tell you one of mine, I want to know one of his! The uncle seems to have an idea, that Derek got himself into a mess—a nasty scrape—with some woman in India,—black, for choice,—but I'm sure that wouldn't be Derek's form. The old man is anxious; he has talked to me,—I may tell you that he adores me, for I amuse him and flirt with him.—Derek was out there for four years, and I need not assure you, one can manage to get through a good deal of mischief, in that time.—I've done my level best to pump Derek, but it was no go; I had better luck with one of his pals, Major Sanders, who is in the same regiment.—I screwed it out of him, that he believes there is something,—although he cannot name the lady. For the last couple of years, Derek has been short of money; he doesn't join in things as he used to do, and he sold two ripping polo ponies. Major Sanders thinks there may be some horrible creature, who claws half his income, as blackmail!"
Nancy, who had been brushing her hair, now swept a quantity over her face, which was burning. She was the horrible creature who twice a year, received, but rejected, the half of Captain Mayne's income.
"Tell me, Nance, did you ever hear anything?—what was he like, in those days?"
"Much the same as now," she murmured, through her veil of shining locks.
"More cheery and go-ahead?"
"Oh yes,—I think perhaps he was."