From the moment this sentence fell from his lips, Geoffrey entertained another feeling,—a sudden warm glow of personal affection,—for his dapper little kinsman, and instantly made up his mind to accept the invitation to spend some weeks in his company.
"And what does the old place look like now?" resumed Colonel Tallboys in a livelier key.
"It looks frightfully dilapidated. You see, the pater let things slide—the grounds, and the gardens, and the shooting. He only occupied a few rooms, and the rest of the house was given up to rats and damp; the paper was peeling off the walls, the roof leaked like a sieve, and drains required to be overhauled. I'm getting the house done up."
"That will cost you a pretty penny!"
"Yes, I'm afraid so—it will mop up all my bit of capital."
"And so you chucked the service at seven-and-twenty! How was that?"
"Well, you see, my father made a point of it; the regiment was ordered to Egypt, and I could not get much leave, and anyway, I was all he had; but I don't mind telling you, Cousin Fred, that it was a wrench—I was most desperately sorry to go. Those bugles this morning in the Fort gave me—er—a horrible lump in my throat. Now I want to talk to you, if I am not taking up too much of your time."
"My time is my own," rejoined the little man rather grandly, "and anyway, it's not every day I have a call from you, Geoff."
"Then look here," tilting his chair nearer, "it's about this business—I want to know your opinion about Uncle Geoffrey."
"My opinion is, that he is dead—dead as a door-nail this thirty years," replied Colonel Tallboys with prompt decision.