“Don’t tempt fate,” he said. “My life has been spent among the outer beasts. It isn’t worth it. For a few years of a man’s youth, yes—perhaps. But I am forty, and I live in a club. There, you have my career in a nutshell.”
“There is a fine kernel within. By Gad! Grant, why don’t you pretend I meant that pun? I didn’t, but I’ll claim it at dinner. Gad, it’s fine!”
Colonel Grant laughed. His mirth had a pleasant, wholesome ring.
“If you bribe me with as good a berth to-morrow,” he said, “I’ll give you the chance of throwing it off spontaneously during the first lull in the conversation. The best impromptus are always prepared beforehand, you know.”
Others came up. The shooters mounted, and the wise ponies picked their way with cautious celerity over an uneven track. Colonel Grant again found himself riding beside his host.
“Tell you what,” said Lord Heronsdale suddenly, “you’re a bit of an enigma, Grant.”
“I have often been told that.”
“Gad, I don’t doubt it. A chap like you, with five thousand a year, to chuck the Guards for the Indian Staff Corps, exchange town for the Northwest frontier, go in for potting Afghans instead of running a drag to Sandown; and, to crown all, remain a bachelor. I don’t understand it.”
“Yet, ten minutes ago you were growling about the monotony of existence at Cairn-corrie and half a dozen other places.”