Geraldine made a little grimace.
“I shall go into the morning room and wait for him,” she announced. “He’ll very likely find me asleep.”
The Admiral looked up from behind the Times.
“Where’s that nice young fellow Granet?” he asked. “Why didn’t you bring him in to dinner?”
“Well, we didn’t get back until nearly eight,” Geraldine reminded her father. “I didn’t think he’d have time to change and get back here comfortably.”
“Fine young chap, that,” Sir Seymour remarked. “The very best type of young English soldier. We could do with lots like him.”
Geraldine left the room without remark. She could hear her father rustling his paper as she disappeared.
“Can’t think why Geraldine didn’t pick up with a smart young fellow like Granet instead of an old stick like Thomson,” he grumbled. “I hate these Army Medicals, anyway.”
“Major Thomson has a charming disposition,” Lady Conyers declared warmly. “Besides, he will be very well off some day—he may even get the baronetcy.”
“Who cares about that?” her husband grunted. “Geraldine has all the family she needs, and all the money. How she came to choose Thomson from all her sweethearts, I can’t imagine.”