Sir Eustace himself saw that his brother’s taciturnity had spoilt his little dinner, and his temper was not improved thereby. He was not accustomed to have his dinners spoiled, and felt that, so far as the Under-Secretary was concerned, he had put himself into a false position.
“My dear George,” he said in a tone of bland exasperation when they had got back to the Albany, “I wonder what can be the matter with you? I told Atherleigh that you would be able to post him up thoroughly about all this Bechuana mess, and he could not get a word out of you.”
His brother absently filled his pipe before he answered:
“The Bechuanas? Oh, yes, I know all about them. I lived among them for a year.”
“Then why on earth didn’t you tell him what you knew? You put me in rather a false position.”
“I am very sorry, Eustace,” he answered humbly. “I will go and see him if you like, and explain the thing to him to-morrow. The fact of the matter is, I was thinking of something else.”
Sir Eustace interrogated him with a look.
“I was thinking,” he went on slowly, “about Mad—about Lady Croston.”
“Oh!”
“I went to see her this afternoon, and I think, I hope, that I am going to marry her.”