“Neither. I think I shall settle down as a country gentleman.”
“Yes, of course,” said Kenneth hastily. “Here, let me show you your room. We’ll have a snug tête-à-tête dinner, and talk about our old fishing days, and the boating.”
“Yes,” cried Max; “and the fishing and boating to come.”
“Ah!” said Kenneth thoughtfully; and the conversation drifted off into minor matters, and about Kenneth’s prospects as a soldier.
The tête-à-tête dinner was eaten, and they became as it were three boys again, Scoodrach trying to look very sedate, but his cheeks shining and eyes flashing as he listened, while pretending to be busy over his work. Then at last the young men were seated together over their coffee, and the conversation took a fresh turn.
“My father?” said Kenneth, in answer to a question; “oh, very well and jolly. I say, do you two go down much to—to Dunroe?”
“No,” said Max huskily. “You do not seem to know my father has been dead these six months.”
“I beg your pardon, Max, old fellow. I ought to have known. Shall you go down to Dunroe much now?”
“I hope so—often,” said Max.
Kenneth was silent, and sat gazing dreamily before him, while Max watched him curiously.