"
Bottles writhed uneasily in his chair. "Thank you, Eustace; but really
I must ask you--in short, I don't want to be floated or anything of the
sort. I would rather go back to South Africa and my volunteer corps. I
would indeed. I hate strangers, and society, and all that sort of thing.
I'm not fit for it like you."
"Then what do you mean to do--get married and live in the country?"
Bottles coloured a little through his sun-tanned skin--a fact that did
not escape the eyeglass of his observant brother. "No, I am not going to
get married, certainly not."
"By the way," said Sir Eustace carelessly, "I saw your old flame, Lady
Croston, yesterday, and told her you were coming home. She makes a
charming widow."
"_What!_" ejaculated his brother, slowly raising himself out of his
chair in astonishment. "Is her husband dead?"
"Dead? Yes, died a year ago, and a good riddance too. He appointed me
one of his executors; I am sure I don't know why, for we never liked
each other. I think he was the most disagreeable fellow I ever knew.
They say he gave his wife a roughish time of it occasionally. Serve her
right, too."
"Why did it serve her right?"
Sir Eustace shrugged his shoulders.
"When a heartless girl jilts the fellow she is engaged to in order to
sell herself to an elderly beast, I think she deserves all she gets.
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