"Magnificent!" he said. "And what wonderful bowls! I'd no idea anything so fine survived."
He lifted one bowl with an effort and examined the chasing.
"Marvelous!" he whispered.
Alf, whose former shyness and apprehension had been dispelled like a cloud of smoke in a strong wind by his kindly reception, made his first remark.
"They're for you, sir," he said. "A present."
"Nonsense, my dear fellow, I couldn't possibly...."
But Alf was dismissing his two servitors. They understood his gestures, and went. Sir Edward determined to leave the question of the bowls until later. The collector's greed was in his heart, and perhaps if the fellow was as rich as he seemed he'd never miss them.... Ruminating, he followed Alf to the tea-table, where Isobel was already filling a cup.
Mr. Wentworth, now quite at his ease, showed a strong desire to sit by his hostess; but she was still too worn out in mind to cope with another visitor. She introduced him, therefore, to one or two of the officers about her and delivered him over to them.
Alf was already—owing to the mystery which enveloped him—a local celebrity; and now he found himself a popular hero. He was borne off round the grounds by a small crowd of half-admiring, half-amused young officers, who extracted a great deal of enjoyment from him while contriving not to hurt his feelings. He found himself on terms with them such as he could never have dreamed possible in the days when he had been a mere private with a conviction that the less he had to do with the commissioned ranks the better for all classes. He was encouraged to call captains by their simple surnames and to venture on familiarities with subalterns; and he played a game of extraordinarily bad billiards which (more to his own astonishment than his opponents') he won.