“You are very kind,” said Caerleon. “We were hoping to call this afternoon——”
“Call!” cried the O’Malachy in high contempt. “Would you talk about calling in this wildernuss? Come to-night, and we’ll be delightud to see you.”
The invitation was accepted with suitable gratitude, and the O’Malachy returned to his wife and daughter, while Caerleon and Cyril sought their own quarters. Lunch was rather a silent ceremony, for Caerleon felt an unaccountable aversion to detailing to his brother his conversation with Nadia O’Malachy.
“Not going out again, surely?” said Cyril, when the meal was over, and Caerleon took up his cap from the window-seat.
“I want a smoke.”
“Well, there are no ladies here, thank goodness! Sit down and smoke like a reasonable human being.”
“No, I want a walk.”
“I should have thought you had had walking enough for one day,” grumbled Cyril, but Caerleon was already outside, and he was obliged to address the remainder of his complaint to his cigar. “He walks with her all morning, does he? and then goes out again to think about her? I ought to have foreseen this. That’s the drawback of the kind of life we’ve been leading for a man of Caerleon’s stamp. He’s scarcely spoken to a lady since the Governor died, and now the first decent-looking girl he meets bowls him over at once. What a blessing it is that I’m not susceptible!”
Caerleon’s walk lasted for over two hours, and Cyril, with a telegram in his hand, was awaiting him impatiently when he returned.
“Back at last!” he said. “Do see what this is. It may be to summon us home about something, or it may be from Temeszy.”