Roy could not well refuse a request so politely put, and curiosity goaded him on, so he went with his chance companions, Sir Raymond Halliday, and Captain John Wynter, son of the Late Brig. General Wynter V.C. who had perished at Loos.
In the smoking room of the Club, Roy unthawed. The atmosphere was more to his liking than the dressing room of a travelling company, and he felt at home with these men.
They were soon discussing old days at the war, and exchanging yarns of people and places where they had met for a brief moment, and then gone down the long trail. To Roy it all came back; the nights he had come back from a little frolic at Etaire, where real oysters could be had, and Veuve Cliquot 1904, a change from trench fare, and then a ride back to the trenches with the ominous line of Verey lights marking the enemy lines, and the sudden whirl of a “heavy” coming over, mingled with the flickering rat-tat of the machine guns.
How real it all seemed and how desirable in the warm firelight of the smoking room.
Presently Raymond broke silence.
“You are not a relation of the Reckaviles, Mr. Halley, are you? Excuse the rudeness of the question but you are extraordinarily like him.”
“None whatever,” said Roy firmly.
“I am glad to hear it, eh Wynter?” said Raymond.
“Well, it’s not a pleasant family, so Mr. Halley is well out of it. You know my father was mixed up with that affair, the Reckavile Divorce they called it, though it was really the Wheatland Divorce.”
“Oh, I was too young to remember,” said Raymond carelessly, but Roy was all attention.