“By Jove, Prescott, it is a great idea, and has taken a tremendous weight off my mind. I did not see anything for it but the ring, you know, and Kate does not seem to fancy that. Well, we may consider the matter settled so far.”
CHAPTER III
PROFFERED AID.
Alice Heathcote had noticed that for a week past Captain Bradshaw had been unusually absent and moody. He had, however, upon the first occasion, when she had inquired if anything were the matter, answered so sharply, “Nothing, my dear, what makes you get such ideas in your head?” that she had not again approached the subject, and rather put it down to an access of her uncle’s chronic complaint of liver.
They were one evening at a small dinner party at the house of an old friend. During a pause in the conversation at dessert, their host remarked, “Shocking bad business that of the ‘Indian’, Bradshaw.”
“Very,” Captain Bradshaw said, curtly.
“You had no shares in it, I hope?”
“Not a penny,” Captain Bradshaw answered.
“Bad business for your nephew Frank. I hear he’s completely done for. Furniture advertised! Fine young fellow, sorry for him—haven’t seen much of him of late. However, it doesn’t matter so much in his case. He’s got a good uncle, eh, Bradshaw?”
“Frank and myself have had a difference,” Captain Bradshaw said stiffly; “I have not spoken to him since his marriage.”