“What a lot of people seem to have been at school with you!”
“Well, there were about six hundred fellows at Wrykyn, you know. Sam and I shared a study. Now there is a chap I envy. He’s knocked about all over the world, having all sorts of fun. America one day, Australia the next, Africa the day after.”
“Quick mover,” said Kay.
“The last I heard from him he was in his uncle’s office in New York, but in this letter he says he’s coming over to work at Tilbury House.”
“Tilbury House? Really? I wonder if uncle will meet him.”
“Don’t you think it would be a sound move if I gave him a dinner or something where he could meet a few{32} of the lads? You and your uncle, of course—and if I could get hold of old Tilbury.”
{32}
“Do you know Lord Tilbury?”
“Oh, yes; I play bridge with him sometimes at the club. And he took my shooting last year.”
“When does Mr. Shotter arrive?”
“I don’t know. He says it’s uncertain. You see, he’s coming over on a tramp steamer.”
“A tramp steamer? Why?”
“Well, it’s the sort of thing he does. Sort of thing I’d like to do too.”
“You?” said Kay, amazed. Willoughby Braddock had always seemed to her a man to whose well-being the refinements—and even the luxuries—of civilisation were essential. One of her earliest recollections was of sitting in a tree and hurling juvenile insults at him, it having come to her ears through reliable channels that he habitually wore bed socks. “What nonsense, Willoughby! You would hate roughing it.”
“I wouldn’t,” said Mr. Braddock stoutly. “I’d love a bit of adventure.”
“Well, why don’t you have it? You’ve got plenty of money. You could be a pirate of the Spanish Main if you wanted.”
Mr. Braddock shook his head wistfully.
“I can’t get away from Mrs. Lippett.”
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