"I've made out the cheque to self and endorsed it," observed Radmore.
"Thanks awfully. You are a good sort. I am far more grateful than I can say, far more than—than—if it was only for myself—"
He stopped abruptly, and there was an awkward pause. Then Jack, speaking rather breathlessly, asked an odd question:—
"You knew Crofton very well, didn't you, Godfrey? What kind of a chap was he?"
He brought out the question with an effort. But he did so want to know! For the first time in his self-confident, comfortable, young life Jack Tosswill was in love and full of painful, poignant, retrospective jealousy.
Radmore looked away, instinctively. "I liked Colonel Crofton, I always got on with him—but he was not popular. He was not at all happy when I knew him, and unhappy people are rarely popular."
He was wondering whether he had better say anything to Jack—whether the favour he had just done him gave him the right to speak.
"I suppose he was at least thirty years older than Mrs. Crofton?"
Radmore nodded, and then they neither spoke for a few moments. Each was waiting for the other to say something, and at last Jack asked another question.
"They didn't get on very well together, did they?"