'Of course he may, but on the other hand there may be quite a romance in the story. As I said to Luscombe, he may have a wife, or a sweetheart, who has been waiting for him for years, and perhaps given him up as dead. Think of his memory coming back, and of the meeting which would follow! Or supposing he is an heir to some estate, and somebody else has got it? Why, George, think if something like that had happened to your brother Maurice! It might, in fact it would alter everything. But there are the motors at the door; we must be off.'
He turned toward the door as he spoke, and did not see George St. Mabyn's face; but I did. It had become drawn and haggard, while in his eyes was a look which suggested anguish.
In spite of myself, a suspicion flashed across my mind. Of course the thing was improbable, if not impossible. But, perhaps influenced by Sir Roger's insistence upon the romantic possibilities of the story, I could not help thinking of it. There could be no doubt, too, that George St. Mabyn looked positively ghastly. A few minutes before, he looked ruddy and well, but now his face was haggard, as if he were in great pain.
Of course it was all nonsense; nevertheless I caught myself constantly thinking about it on my way to the meeting. In fact, so much did it occupy my attention that Lorna Bolivick, who sat with me in the car, laughingly suggested that I was a dull companion, and was evidently thinking more about my speech than how to be agreeable to a lady.
'St. Mabyn ought to be the speaker, not I,' I said. 'He has been to the front, and knows what real fighting means.'
'Oh, George can't speak,' she replied laughingly; 'why, even when he addressed his tenants, after Maurice was killed, he nearly broke down.'
'What sort of fellow was Maurice?' I asked.
'Oh, just splendid. Everybody loved Maurice. But he ought not to have stayed in the Army.'
'Why?'
'Because,—because—oh, I don't know why, but it didn't seem right. His father was old and feeble when he went away, and as he was the heir he ought to have stayed at home and looked after him, and the estate. But he would go. There were rumours about trouble in Egypt, and Maurice said he wanted to see some fighting. I suppose it was his duty, too. After all, he was a soldier, and when his regiment was ordered abroad, he had to go. But it seems an awful shame.'