Robert talked of Smyrna, and developed projects for settling there, causing Mrs. Stratton every now and then to look up from her book and view him askance.
“By-the-bye,” he said, “who knows a meritorious youth out of employment? An English friend of mine out there writes to ask me to find him a secretary, some one who knows French well, a man of good general education. Can you help me, colonel?”
“‘Fraid not,” murmured the one addressed, whose straw hat had slipped over his eyes.
“What salary does he offer?” inquired Isabel.
“A hundred and fifty pounds, and residence in his own house.”
“Would he take me?” she asked, turning it into a jest.
The subject dropped; but on the following morning, as she was riding with her cousin, Isabel referred to it again.
“Is it the kind of thing,” she asked, “that would suit Mr. Kingcote?”
“Kingcote?” He seemed to refresh his memory. “Does he want something of the sort?”
“A few weeks ago he did. I don’t know that he would care to leave England; but I think it might be suggested to him,” she added, patting her horse’s neck. “He has a sister, a widow, with her two children dependent on him.”