"Think he's really mad, Graves? Pa says he is."
"Pa?"
"Pa says—his room's next to Graeme's, you know—that he hears him talking to himself at night. Damn sick about it Pa is, says it stops him sleeping. It's ever since he came back three weeks ago. Where did he go, d'you know?"
"You can see it in the leave-book, if you're interested, I'm not."
"Graves, I believe it's a girl's put Graeme wrong."
"You've not the slightest reason for thinking such a thing, Worm, Graeme never speaks to a woman."
"I know, but, all the same, I'm sure of it. What did he go on leave for then, why does any fellow go on leave in this cursed country, except he's after a girl, or looking for one? If that's so, and he's taken the knock, I'm sorry for him; must be damnable to be chucked by a girl. Gad, if Fanny were to play it low down on me, I'd ... I don't know what I would do, Graves. You've heard me speak of Fanny, haven't you?"
"I have, many times. Are you coming to polo?"
"Yes, wait a minute though; there's something else I wanted to tell you, only it went out of my head, talking of Graeme. I had a letter from Johnson, at Cape Town, this morning, and he says the Mahonga show is all on again, and we shall be for it."
"Johnson's a fool, always spreading some shave. Come on, if you are coming, that is." The pair went out, and mounting their waiting ponies rode off to the polo ground.