Rupert’s jaw fell. “I am to be married to-morrow at half-past two, sir.”
The Secretary of State and Lord Southwick looked at each other; then the former spoke.
“We know that, Colonel Ullershaw, especially as one of us is to have the pleasure of attending your wedding. Still, in your own interests and what we are sure you will consider much more, in those of your country, we felt it right to give you the first offer of this delicate and responsible mission. Situated as you are, we do not urge you to accept it, especially as in the event of your refusal, for which we shall not in the least blame you, we have another officer waiting to take your place. At the same time, I tell you candidly that I do not think you will refuse, because I believe you to be a man who sets duty above every other earthly consideration. And now, sorry as I am to hurry you when there is so much to be considered on both sides, I must ask for your decision, as the other gentleman must absolutely have twenty-four hours in which to make his preparations.”
Rupert rose and walked twice up and down the room, while they watched him—Lord Southwick very uneasily. At the second turn, he halted opposite to the Secretary of State.
“You used the word duty, sir,” he said, “and therefore I have little choice in the matter. I accept the mission with which you have been pleased to honour me.”
Lord Southwick opened his mouth to speak, but the Secretary of State cut him short.
“As Colonel Ullershaw has accepted, I do not think we need waste further time in discussion. Colonel Ullershaw, I congratulate you on the spirit that you have shown, which, as I thought it would, from your record and the judgment I formed of you at our previous interview, has led you to place your duty to your Queen and country before your personal happiness and convenience. I trust—and indeed I may say I believe—that our arrangement of this afternoon may prove, not the starting-point, it is true, but a very high step in a great and distinguished career. Good-day; I wish you all success. Lord Southwick will join you in his room presently and settle the details.”
“It seems a little rough,” said Lord Southwick, as the door closed behind Rupert, “on his marriage day and so forth. Supposing he got killed, as he very likely will.”
“Many men, as good or better, have come to grief in doing their duty,” answered his chief, a pompous individual who modelled himself upon the Spartans, at any rate where other people were concerned. “He must take his chance like the rest. Give him the K.C.B. and that sort of thing if he gets through, you know.”
“K.C.B.s aren’t much use to dead men, or their widows either,” grumbled Lord Southwick. “I rather wish we hadn’t talked to him about duty; you see, he is a quixotic sort of fellow, and really, as he isn’t even to have a commission, there can’t be any duty in the matter. He’s only a kind of volunteer on a second-class, forlorn hope, to prepare the way by bribes and otherwise for an advance about which nothing is to be said, with the chance of being repudiated as having exceeded his instructions if anything goes wrong.”