"I will go and see him
if you like, and explain the thing to him to-morrow. The fact of the
matter is, I was thinking of something else."
Sir Eustace interrogated him with a look.
"I was thinking," he went on slowly, "about Mad--about Lady Croston."
"Oh!"
"I went to see her this afternoon, and I think, I hope, that I am going
to marry her."
If Bottles expected that this great news would be received by his
elder brother as such news ought to be received--with congratulatory
rejoicing--he was destined to be disappointed.
"Good heavens!" ejaculated Sir Eustace shortly, letting his eyeglass
drop.
"Why do you say that, Eustace?" Bottles asked uneasily.
"Because--because," answered his brother in the emphatic tone which was
his equivalent for strong language, "you must be mad to think of such a
thing."
"Why must I be mad?"
"Because you, still a young man, with all your life before you,
deliberately propose to tie yourself up to a middle-aged and _passee_
woman--she is extremely _passee_ by daylight, let me tell you--who
has already treated you like a dog, and is burdened with a couple of
children, and who, if she marries again, will bring you very little
except her luxurious tastes.
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