"That's all very well," I said; "but where does one find these gilded and easily pleased females?"
Again George's brow contracted.
"There are plenty of charming girls in society, who at the same time are by no means paupers. You are sure to find one or two at Grendon, for instance."
I put down the spoon slowly.
"Oh, ho!" said I. "Now I begin to understand. We are expected to combine business and pleasure this trip—eh?"
"If you mean to suggest that I have been talking the matter over with Lady Bulstrode," said George coldly, "you are quite mistaken. At the same time, I know she would be only too pleased to see you make a sensible marriage. She has often asked after you when you've been away, and when she heard you were in London she insisted on my sending her your address at once."
"Lady Bulstrode," I said, "is a dear old soul. I've always been in love with her ever since I was a kid at Strathmore and she used to ask me over to Grendon to shoot rabbits. By the way, who's living at Strathmore now?"
George looked at me a little suspiciously. I think he believed me guilty of trying to change the conversation.
"There's no one there at present," he replied, "except old Donald Ross and his wife. I want to sell the place if I can; it's no good to us."
"Oh, don't sell it," I protested. "It's the only one of our numerous family mansions I could ever stand." Then I paused. "I left a boat there last time I was in England," I added. "I wonder what's happened to it?"