He was looking round for further evidence of obvious conflict of
individualities, when Myra appeared to take him to get rid of the dust
of the journey. When he returned to the drawing-room he found Olivia.
“I can’t help feeling an inconscionable intruder,” said he.
“My only concern is that I’ll be able to give you something fit to eat.”
He laughed. “The man who has come out of France and Mesopotamia finikin
in his food is a fraud.”
“Still,” she objected, “I don’t want to send you back to Mrs. Olifant
racked with indigestion.”
“Mrs. Olifant?” He wore a look of humorous puzzlement.
“I suppose you have a wife and family?”
“Good heavens, no!” he cried, with an air of horror. “I’m a bachelor.”
She regarded him for a few seconds, as though from an entirely fresh
point of view.
“But what on earth does a bachelor want with a great big house—with ten
bedrooms?”
“Has it got ten bedrooms?”
“I presume Mr. Trivett sent you the particulars: ‘Desirable Residence,
standing in own grounds, three acres. Ten bedrooms, three reception
rooms. Bath H. and C.,’ and so forth?”
“The Bath H. and C. was all I worried about.”
They both laughed. Myra announced luncheon. They went into the
dining-room. By the side of Major Olifant’s plate was a leather case. He
flashed on her a look of enquiry, at which the blood rose into her pale
cheeks.
“I’ve been interviewing your man,” she said rather defiantly. “He
produced that from the pocket of the car.”
“You overwhelm me with your kindness, Miss Gale,” said he. “I should
never have had the courage to ask for it.”
The case contained the one-armed man’s patent combination knife and
fork.
“Courage is such a funny thing,” said Olivia. “A man will walk up to a
machine-gun in action and knock the gunner out with the butt end of a
rifle; but if he’s sitting in a draught in a woman’s drawing-room and
catching his death of cold, he daren’t get up and shut the window. These
are real eggs, although they’re camouflaged in a Chinese scramble. One
faithful hen is still doing her one minute day. The others are on
strike.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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