Rupert relaxed again, dropping back listlessly. "I suppose you are right. I certainly don't make a great success of things. I believe I should get on better with you than with anyone else. But if you feel like that about it, there is no more to be said."
"You really want to be taken seriously, do you?" Mordaunt said.
"Of course I do!" Rupert turned towards him again with the lightning change of mood characteristic of him. "You must forgive me for being a bit touchy, old chap. It's this infernal thundery weather. May I have another drink?" He helped himself without waiting for permission. "Of course I want to be taken seriously. It's a billet that would suit me down to the ground. I know the place, every inch of it, and, as you know, I'm fond of it. I would look after your interests as though they were my own."
Mordaunt smiled. "But do you look after your own?"
Rupert clinked some ice into his tumbler, and thoughtfully watched it float.
"You've been so jolly decent to me," he said at length, "that I haven't the face to bother you with my affairs again."
"I suppose that means you are in difficulties," his brother-in-law remarked.
He nodded without looking up. "I'm never out of 'em. It's not my fault.
It's my beastly bad luck."
"Of course," said Mordaunt dryly.
Rupert bobbed the ice against his glass and spilt some whisky-and-water in so doing. He looked decidedly uncomfortable.