“Yes—exactly—I see,” faltered Pugh, whose mind was wandering towards home, and who recalled the Cuban’s openly expressed admiration for his wife.
“The dear little woman,” continued Mr Parkley, “could take him out for a drive while you are busy, and you can have music and chess in the evenings. You’ll have to live better, perhaps; but mind, my dear fellow, we are not going to let you suffer for that, and you must let me send you some wine, and a box or two of cigars. We must do the thing handsomely for him.”
“Yes, of course,” said Dutch vaguely.
“Quite a stranger here, you know, and by making him a friend, all will go on so much more smoothly afterwards.”
“Exactly,” said Dutch again.
“But how dreamy you are? What are you thinking about?”
Dutch started, for in spite of his love and trust he was thinking of the handsome Cuban being installed at his home, and always in company with his innocent young wife, while he was away busy over his daily avocations.
“I beg pardon; did I seem thinking?”
“That you did. But never mind; you’ll do this for me, Pugh?”
“Certainly, if you wish it,” said Dutch, making an effort; while the figure of the Cuban seemed to be coming like a dark shadow across his life.