Reggie passed a ringed hand over his smooth, fair hair, felt his moustache, opening his mouth beneath the caressing fingers as he did so.
"The engagements you mention are negligible ones?"
Reggie nodded, gazing at his brother, busy with the corners of the moustache, making up his mind for a plunge. "Fact is," he got out, "I'm thinking of settling down."
Sir Francis left his position on the hearthrug, walked across to the table, to arrange more symmetrically some papers which lay there; returning, took up his place on the hearth again. "Getting married, you mean?" he asked.
Reggie nodded, still holding his mouth open, the more satisfactorily to handle the moustache.
"My dear fellow, that intention need not deter you. You have held it so often before. Go away for twelve months, at least. Get engaged, if you are still so inclined, when you come home."
"Perhaps," amended Reggie artlessly, "if I were to put off going for a month, or even a couple of months, we might get married, and she could go too."
"Who is the lady at the present moment, may I ask?"
"I expect you've formed a pretty good guess," said Reggie, bold as a lion.
"You saw me there yesterday."
"A daughter of Mrs. Day, at the grocer's shop; widow of——? But we needn't go into that."