“What else do you call it when he got him sent off to Egypt on his wedding day upon a particularly dangerous mission, and when, on the failure of that mission and his reported death, he even took the opportunity to poison the minds of his chiefs and so blacken his memory.”
“So he really did those things?” remarked Edith reflectively.
“Certainly; I will give you chapter and verse for it if you like. But about Rupert.” He paused, and drew a bow at a venture. “What happened when you saw him?”
“So Dick has told you,” she said. “Well, if he will lie about one thing, he will lie about another. But why force me to repeat the story?”
“Because I should like to hear it first-hand. What happened, and when?”
“Over seven years ago,” answered Edith hoarsely, “Rupert came back, on New Year’s Eve, a Sunday, after Dick had been to lunch. He was dressed in horrible rough clothes, and his hair was long and tangled like that of a wild man. His foot had been cut off, and his left eye put out by those savages there in the Soudan. They tortured him because he would not become a Mahommedan.”
“Ah!” said Lord Devene, “personally I think that the Mahommedan religion has points, but—plucky fellow, Rupert; it might have recommended him to some women. Well?”
“Well, he was horrible to me. As a friend I could scarcely have borne him, but as a husband—oh! you know.”
“I think you said that Dick had been to luncheon, did you not? Now, had he perhaps suggested himself as what on a Board of Directors is called an alternative?”
“He had asked me to marry him,” replied Edith, dropping her head.