"Why not? If you go at all I want you to go at once." "What do you call at once?" "Next week, at latest." Reggie shook his head. He couldn't be sure of Deleah in that time. How long would it take to get married, he wondered. "No, thank you. I really don't care for it. I couldn't possibly get away so soon." "Why not?" "There are the Widdimouth races next week, and I've booked several engagements for the week after." "The fact is I want you to get away for a time, Reggie. This place is all very well if you've got a business or a profession to attend to, but simply to idle away your time here isn't healthy." "What's wrong with Brockenham?" Reggie asked, who had a great admiration for his native town. "Any one been gossiping about me again?" "No one has mentioned you to me. But Ada was hearing an interesting piece of news about you, yesterday." "Ada's as bad as the other old women." "Nonsense. You had better go, Reggie. I mean it." Reggie passed a ringed hand over his smooth, fair hair, felt his moustache, opening his mouth beneath the caressing fingers as he did so. "The engagements you mention are negligible ones?" Reggie nodded, gazing at his brother, busy with the corners of the moustache, making up his mind for a plunge. "Fact is," he got out, "I'm thinking of settling down." Sir Francis left his position on the hearthrug, walked across to the table, to arrange more symmetrically some papers which lay there; returning, took up his place on the hearth again. "Getting married, you mean?" he asked. Reggie nodded, still holding his mouth open, the more satisfactorily to handle the moustache. "My dear fellow, that intention need not deter you. You have held it so often before. Go away for twelve months, at least. Get engaged, if you are still so inclined, when you come home." "Perhaps," amended Reggie artlessly, "if I were to put off going for a month, or even a couple of months, we might get married, and she could go too." "Who is the lady at the present moment, may I ask?" "I expect you've formed a pretty good guess," said Reggie, bold as a lion. "You saw me there yesterday." "A daughter of Mrs. Day, at the grocer's shop; widow of----? But we needn't go into that." "It doesn't seem necessary. Her daughter." "Well--!" said Sir Francis slowly. "You have given me one reason more, my dear boy, and that a supreme one, for hastening your departure. Take my advice--you will never regret it--and go to-morrow." "No," Reggie said, and then both were silent. When the elder again began, he had changed his easy, almost indifferent tone for one firmer and less indulgent. "What you propose is impossible," he said. "I don't see it." "Have you thought what you would be marrying? The grocer's shop, the debts, the helpless mother, the disreputable private soldier of a brother (he enlisted, I am told, to save himself from prison, as the father killed himself for the same purpose). A charming family with which to ally yourself, truly!"