"Tell me his name?" she asked.
"Lord Welmington," I answered,—"the Earl of Welmington he is called."
"And you would be that," she asked naïvely, "if he died?"
"I should," I answered, "but I should be very sorry to think that there was any chance of it. I am going to find something to do very soon, probably at one of the embassies on the Continent. The army at home, with no chance of a war, is dull work."
"You play games and shoot, of course," she asked, "like all your countrymen?"
"I am afraid I do," I admitted. "I have wasted a good deal of time the last few years. I have made up my mind definitely now, though, that I will get something to do. Ralph—that's my brother—wants me to stand for Parliament for the division of Norfolk, where we live, and has offered to pay all my expenses, but I am afraid I do not fancy myself as a politician."
"I would come and hear you speak," she murmured.
"Thank you," I answered, "but I have other accomplishments at which I shine more. I would rather—"
I broke off in the middle of my sentence, attracted by a sudden little exclamation from my companion. There was the sound of a heavy fall close at hand. I sprang to my feet.
"By Jove, it's Bartot!" I exclaimed.