“Ah! Collecting local colour for one of your delightful romances?”
“Eh?” I had to think a bit before I got on to what he meant. Then I remembered the Rosie M. Banks business. “Oh, no,” I said. “Just felt I needed a change. Seen anything of Bingo lately?” I asked quickly, being desirous of heading the old thing off what you might call the literary side of my life.
“Bingo?”
“Your nephew.”
“Oh, Richard? No, not very recently. Since my marriage a little coolness seems to have sprung up.”
“Sorry to hear that. So you’ve married since I saw you, what? Mrs. Little all right?”
“My wife is happily robust. But—er—not Mrs. Little. Since we last met a gracious Sovereign has been pleased to bestow on me a signal mark of his favour in the shape of—ah—a peerage. On the publication of the last Honours List I became Lord Bittlesham.”
“By Jove! Really? I say, heartiest congratulations. That’s the stuff to give the troops, what? Lord Bittlesham?” I said. “Why, you’re the owner of Ocean Breeze.”
“Yes. Marriage has enlarged my horizon in many directions. My wife is interested in horse-racing, and I now maintain a small stable. I understand that Ocean Breeze is fancied, as I am told the expression is, for a race which will take place at the end of the month at Goodwood, the Duke of Richmond’s seat in Sussex.”
“The Goodwood Cup. Rather! I’ve got my chemise on it for one.”