"He's one of the rising men, Graeme, one of the cleverest they ever had at the Staff College, they tell me; did well, too at last cold weather manoeuvres."
"Indeed, sir," muttered Graeme, his perplexity increasing.
"They've just given him the command of a brigade in South Africa, and he has written to me asking if I know of a"—a pause—"a suitable A.D.C."
Enlightenment at last, and with it the blood rushed to Hector's face. His forehead grew wet, and the room reeled before him. Far off he heard Quentin's voice continuing:
"It's a great chance, Graeme, for any soldier, and after consideration I've determined to offer the post to you."
"But, but ... sir, I'd give my soul to go, but——"
"You're thinking about the recommendation, I suppose, from your Colonel. He won't give it; is that what you mean?"
"No, he would not, sir," said Graeme, snatching at a straw.
"Hum, that's a pity, a very great pity. A Colonel's word, you know, Graeme, goes for a lot in these matters. Still, this is a purely personal appointment, and if I choose to take the risk of recommending you in spite of unfavourable reports, well, that's my lookout. And I'm prepared to take it, Graeme."
Silence.