“Fancy Lizzie Devine being fool enough to marry that long-legged cad she was touring with, after all,” said Hubert presently.
“Yes. Not good enough for her. By Jove! but that girl is sterling and plucky. That was one of the finest things I ever saw, the way she came forward. Well, if they don’t hit it off, I’ll back her to come out best.”
Incidentally, both brothers had marked the event alluded to with a substantiality that bordered on the munificent. To one, the recollection of her would always be as that of the life-saver to the drowning man.
“And our rascally friend, Gipsy Steve? Does he still keep straight?” went on Hubert.
“Yes. A savage is capable of gratitude, and this one is so grateful to me for prevailing on Neville not to sack him by reason of his giving that evidence, that I believe he’d cut anyone’s throat if I told him to. But I only told him to keep straight, and I believe he’ll do it.
“Do you know, Roland, you’re no end of a popular chap round here now—among the sovereign people, I mean. Why, only the other day, when I was biking, I turned into a pub out beyond Clatton to get a whisky and soda, and the place was full of yokels and a small farmer or two, and they were booming you no end.”
“That was for your benefit.”
“Not a bit of it. They didn’t know me from Adam.”
“Then it was on Olive’s account. They recognise her as the good genius here.”
“That’s all right,” assented the other heartily. “But I don’t think it was altogether on Olive’s account, all the same. Besides, I’ve come across other instances of it. I say, though. Fancy a Dorrien popular! Eh?”