“The last tenant was married,” explained Lovett, “and I took over everything, just as it stood, down to the matting.”
“Then you have a capital cook, a fine trapper, two polo ponies, lots of shooting in the district, not a debt or care in the world—I wish I were in your shoes.”
“By Jove! sometimes I wish you were!” was the unexpected rejoinder.
“What do you mean? I thought your luck was dead in when you got this move—an awfully good thing.”
“In some ways—too much of a good thing.”
“Pray explain this dark saying!”
“Too many women.”
Bobby burst into a shout of laughter, and then exclaimed, “I say, you must be hard up for something to grumble at.”
“Well, I’m bothered out of my life—and sometimes I think I’ll have to marry one of the lot, to keep the others off.”
“Come now, Ted! you are not so attractive as all that! One would suppose you were a pot of honey. I say, you’re chaffing!” and the younger Lovett sat down cross-legged on a chair, rested his elbows on the back, and stared at his brother with round, twinkling eyes.