"Dear me!" said the major drily. His own family were Indian Civil Service. "What you might call the hardships of war. Possibly we may find someone without family ties, Mathews."
The lieutenant smiled and ran his thumb along the blade of the Turkish dagger.
"Possibly," he replied. He smiled because the major was rather conspicuous at home for his affairs with married women.
"By the way," said the censor, following some obscure association of ideas, "I met Morpeth this evening and he was telling me they expected some new arrivals from Paris at the Omphale."
"Yes, I heard that," said the major, who was not at all interested. "It will be a riot. Probably three or four. And about thirty or forty Greek, French, Italian, and Serbian lieutenants, standing round six deep, making them squiffy on Floka's Monopole. No, thanks. Stale pastry, anyhow."
The lieutenant continued to smile.
"They'd better be doing that than slapping each other's faces and exchanging cards at the Cercle Militaire," he murmured.
"They do that anyhow—afterwards," said the major, thrusting his papers into the safe and lighting a cigarette. He shoved the door to with his foot, twirled the knob, and stood up.
"What about some golf to-morrow afternoon?" he demanded. "Didn't you say you had a friend coming ashore, Mathews?"
"Yes, from the Proteus. He'll be here about three, I think. Very decent chap, too."