“I am sorry to say that, in that case, my face belies me.”
“Well, at any rate,” with an air of desperation, “you could dance in a burlesque?”
“Get away!” screamed Mrs. Brande. “Dance in a burlesque! I am glad her mother does not hear you. Never mind him, Honor; he is crazy about acting and dancing, and thinks of nothing else.”
“All work and no plays, make Jack a dull boy,” he retorted.
“Who else is up?” demanded Mrs. Brande, severely.
“Oh, the usual set, I believe. Lloyds, Clovers, Valpys, Dashwoods, a signalling class, a standing camp, a baronet; there is also a millionaire just about half way. You’ll find a fellow called Waring at Nath Tal Dâk Bungalow—he was in the service once, and has now come in for tons of money, and is a gentleman at large—very keen about racing and sport. I expect he will live at our mess.”
“Then he is not married?” said Mrs. Brande, in a tone of unaffected satisfaction.
“Not he! Perish the thought! He has a companion, a young chap he takes about with him, a sort of hanger-on and poor relation.”
“What is he like? Of course I mean the millionaire?”
“Oh, of course,” with an affable nod; “cheery, good-looking sort of chap, that would be an A1 hero of a novel.”