Saffron bowed his head in acquiescence; he showed no sign of anger.
"Present your friend to me, Hector," he requested, or ordered, gravely.
"Captain Naylor, sir, Distinguished Service Order; Duffshire Fusiliers."
The Captain was in uniform and, during his talk with Beaumaroy, had not
thought of taking off his cap. Thus he came to the salute instinctively.
The old man bowed with reserved dignity; in spite of his queer get-up he
bore himself well; the tall handsome Captain did not seem to efface or
outclass him.
"Captain Naylor has distinguished himself highly in the war, sir,"
Beaumaroy continued.
"I am very glad to make the acquaintance of any officer who has
distinguished himself in the service of his country." Then his tone
became easier and more familiar. "Don't let me disturb you, gentlemen. My
business with you, Hector, will wait. I have finished my work, and can
rest with a clear conscience."
"Couldn't we persuade you to stay a few minutes with us, and join us in a
whisky-and-soda?"
"Yes, by all means, Hector. But no whisky. Give me a glass of my own
wine; I see a bottle on the sideboard.
Pages:
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117