“You don’t think that he has any intentions?”
“That Mr Barron? No; such an idea never crossed my mind. Absurd! He is quite a middle-aged man, I hear; I’ve not seen him. He is no favourite either of old Miss Jerrold. But what’s the matter? Going?”
“Eh? Yes, I’m going now. You won’t come out, old fellow, and I thought we’d put off the congratulatory dinner till another day.”
“Yes, we will. I’m awfully sorry, Percy; don’t take it ill of me.”
“No, no; of course not.”
“And—and I’ll communicate with you about to-morrow night. Though, if I don’t go, that is no reason why you should not.”
“No, of course—that is—,” faltered Guest, looking at his friend strangely. “Good-bye, old fellow. You are going to the admiral’s to-night?”
“No, I’ll go this afternoon. He may be off out to dinner. Wish me luck, old fellow.”
“Yes,” said Guest slowly, “I wish you luck. I was afraid so,” he said slowly, as he descended the stairs, looking careworn and wretched. “I ought to have known better. They were always together, and she likes him. Oh! I could break his neck. No, I couldn’t. I’m only a fool, I suppose, for liking him. I’ve always been as if I was her dog. One’s own and only friend to come between. Oh, what a crooked world it is! Round? Bosh! It’s no shape at all, or it would have been evenly balanced and fair. Good-bye, little Edie; you’ll jump at him, of course. He’s worth half a dozen of such poor, weak-minded beggars as I am; but I loved you very dearly indeed, indeed. I shan’t go and make a hole in the water, little one, all the same. I wonder, though, whether an enterprising young barrister would have any chance in Fiji or the Caroline Isles? I’ll ask someone who knows.”
Percy Guest went back to his chambers in Grey’s Inn, and about half-past three a cab set down Malcolm Stratton at the admiral’s door.