"You have nothing to be sorry for. The walk was delightful. My aunt and Susie have been talking of unpleasant things."
"What kind of things?"
"Of your leaving the Army. You have never told me why you threw up your career."
"My career! There was not much to lose. The Boer War was over; my regiment was in India all the time, and I never had a look in. Oh, they have been telling you an ugly story about your poor friend; and it will be 'The door is shut' again, I suppose."
"Why did not you tell me of your past life? I have told you everything about mine."
"Because you had only nice innocent things to tell. My story would not bear telling—and why should you want to know?"
"There should not be a wall between friends—such friends as we have been—like brother and sister."
"Do brothers tell old love stories? Stale, barren stories of loves that are dead?"
"Perhaps not. I oughtn't to have spoken about it. Come and talk to Aunt Mildred. Her carriage has been announced, and she'll be huffed if we don't go to her."
Claude followed meekly, and in five minutes Lady Okehampton had forgotten that it was eleven o'clock, and that her horses had been waiting half an hour. He had a curious power of making women pleased with themselves, and with him. He always flattered them; but his flattery was so discreet and subtle as to be imperceptible. It was rather his evident delight in being with them and talking to them that pleased, than anything that he said.