Vanquished Mrs. Lakin, with a sympathetic glance at me, withdrew in helpless silence, and was presently lumbering out of the compound in her dilapidated victoria.
By and by, when the club had scattered to bridge, billiards, or the library, I was relieved from my rack and carried back to the cantonment. As I stepped out of the car I said, in a tone of humble apology:
“I know I’ve not been good company, but I am sure you must realise that I am most dreadfully unhappy about my brother.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” he assented; “he is an infernal young ass.”
“And you will keep your promise,” I added, resting my hand on the car; “we may rely on you? You will send it by messenger as soon as possible?”
“Of course, you may rely on me,” he answered impatiently; “my clerk will be with you at ten o’clock to-night. I’ll see you again before long,” and he signed to the chauffeur to proceed.
After this agonising experience I felt mentally prostrated, and sank exhausted into a long chair in the veranda. Ronnie, now at home, came quickly forward, and when I said “It is all right,” the relief in the expression of his drawn, worn face was some recompense to me.
After dinner we sat out in the compound, watched the dancing fireflies and listened to the distant band, for it was “guest night” at the mess.
“He said the clerk would be here at ten o’clock.” I repeated this more than once—the announcement seemed to give me confidence. “It will be all in notes,” I added.
“So much the better,” said Ronnie. “In fact nothing else would do. I’ll take it up early to-morrow, get hold of the key, stick it into the safe, and hand it over to the old man. Oh, what a load off my mind!”