"And Omar shall have a blue ribbon. Oh bother——"
"Omar?"
"Oh, I didn't mean to tell you, dear, not till to-morrow; but I've got a cat for you, my birthday present, Hector. He's a Persian, that's why I call him Omar, not very brilliant I fear, but I'm not clever, as you know only too well."
"Clever, you're the dearest——"
"But not clever, Hector, don't say so, because I know. Oh, I'd love to be clever like you."
"Me? Good heavens!"
"Yes, but about Omar. I know how you missed poor Fop, and I've meant to get you another in his place for a long time, but couldn't find one good enough. He's white, Hector, and rather nice, come along now and inspect him."
"Lucy, wait. I—I've something to tell you, something terrible, dear, has happened, and—and—oh, my God, how can I say it?"
"Hector, what do you mean?" the smile dying away.
"I ... they ... I'm ordered to South Africa, Lucy."