“Yes,” murmured the captain, with a glowing sense of satisfaction at his own conversational powers. He felt he was becoming quite a society man.
“But,” pursued the hereditary legislator, “it’s tricky--deuced tricky. The nastiest lot of irregular verbs I’ve come across yet. Still, I get along all right. Worst of it is, you know, that when I’ve got a sentence out all right with its verbs and things, I’m not in a fit state to catch the answer.”
“Knocks you on to your beam-ends,” suggested Captain Bontnor.
“Yes.”
Lord Seahampton settled his throat more comfortably in his spotless collar, and proceeded to help himself to a fourth mutton cutlet.
“Staying here long?” he inquired.
“No, not long,” answered Captain Bontnor slowly, as if meditating; then suddenly he burst into his story. “You see, sir,” he said, “I’m getting on in years, and I’m not quite the build for foreign travel. It sort of flurries me. I’m a bit past it. I’m not here for pleasure, you know.”
This seemed to have the effect of sending Lord Seahampton off into a brown study--not apparently of great value so far as depth of thought was concerned. He looked as if he were wondering whether he himself was in Barcelona for pleasure or not.
“No,” he murmured encouragingly,
“It is like this,” pursued Captain Bontnor, confidentially. “My sister, Amelia Ann, married above her.”