So the General was dead—the kind old soldier he could remember almost as soon as he could remember anything—and, beyond doubt, Omeath and its neighbourhood was greatly the poorer. And The Ghan House was to be let, was probably already let, and Mrs Adair and her daughters were going to London. This was the news that set him thinking the most deeply—at first it seemed so utterly incredible. Omeath without the Adairs was like a problem he could not solve. Omeath without Jack O’Hara—without the Adairs or Jack—was only more extraordinary still. And then to go to London! Eileen and Paddy cooped up in a little stuffy London house, after their lovely home among the mountains on the loch-side. It was not possible—surely it was not possible that this had to be. He read the letter again, lingering over the part that explained how all the General’s private means had gone and there was nothing left but the widow’s pension, and how the post of dispenser had been offered to Paddy, and rather than be separated they were all going to London together. So Paddy was to be dispenser? What in the name of fortune could have put such an idea into their heads? Paddy dispensing was so ludicrous to him that he could scarcely forbear to smile. But he soon grew serious again. The Adairs’ misfortunes touched him more nearly than he would have thought. His mind ran on. If he went back and persuaded Eileen to marry him, he wondered if there would be any difficulty about his renting The Ghan House, and installing Mrs Adair and Paddy there for good. He believed not. If it were arranged that the gift came from Eileen, they could hardly object, and, for the matter of that, why should they? Far into the night Lawrence sat in his big easy-chair, oblivious to all that was going on around him, thinking out his new idea. CHAPTER XXV A Curious Engagement. For several days Lawrence had only a flying interview with Gwen, so occupied was she with balls and receptions and gayeties of all kinds, and meanwhile he still pondered the question of the Adairs. At last Gwen noticed he was unusually quiet, and taxed him in her customary outspoken fashion. “There’s something the matter with you, Lawrie,” she said. “You’ve been looking as solemn as a boiled owl for days. Is it an attack of liver, or the hundred-and-ninety-ninth love episode? Come, out with it, and let me give you the benefit of my sage advice.” They were standing on the large staircase at the Viceroy’s, having met at a reception there, and she had detained him in passing. “Why not choose a more public spot?” Lawrence asked. “Only half Calcutta would hear us here, and they might as well all know.”