The young man abandoned the subject with a murmur of hopeful sympathy. His eyes were fixed upon a little cloud of dust in the distance.
“Expecting visitors to-day?” he asked.
“Should not be surprised,” was the somewhat laconic answer.
The young man stood up, yawned and stretched himself.
“I'll make myself scarce,” he said. “Jove!” he added approvingly, lingering for a moment. “Jolly well cut, the tunic of your uniform, Dominey! If a country in peril ever decides to waive the matter of my indifferent physique and send me out to the rescue, I shall go to your man.”
Dominey smiled.
“Mine is only the local Yeomanry rig-out,” he replied. “They will nab you for the Guards!”
Dominey stepped back through the open windows into his study as Pelham strolled off. He was seated at his desk, poring over some letters, when a few minutes later Seaman was ushered into the room. For a single moment his muscles tightened, his frame became tense. Then he realised his visitor's outstretched hands of welcome and he relaxed. Seaman was perspiring, vociferous and excited.
“At last!” He exclaimed. “Donner und!—My God Dominey, what is this?”
“Thirteen years ago,” Dominey explained, “I resigned a commission in the Norfolk Yeomanry. That little matter, however, has been adjusted. At a crisis like this—”