“It is not a matter of kindness, but a matter of duty,” he said. “We were talking of Barclay. How did you meet him?”
“Charlie introduced him to me one Sunday afternoon in the Park.”
“And he has promised you marriage? Tell me frankly.” She nodded, again blushing deeply.
“Then you have my very heartiest wishes for your future happiness,” he declared with a pleasant smile. “Mind I am told the date, so that I can send you the usual teapot!”
Whereat they both laughed in chorus. The old man could be charming when he wished.
“Oh! we shan’t be married for a long time yet, I suppose!” Marion exclaimed. “Max talks of going with a shooting party up the Zambesi next spring. They’ll be away a full year, I expect.”
“And you’ll be left all alone?” he said in a tone of surprise. “No, I don’t think he’ll do that. He ought not to leave you alone at Cunnington’s.”
“Oh, but he’s going out to Turkey now—in a few days I think. He has some financial business out there. Something which will bring him in a very big sum of money.”
“Oh, what’s its nature?” asked the old financier, instantly pricking up his ears.
“I believe it’s a concession from the Sultan for the construction of a railway from some place on the Servian frontier, across Northern Albania, down to San Giovanni di Medua—if I pronounce the name aright—on the Adriatic.”