Page:The Yellow Book - 03.djvu/139

 Sir Geoffrey smiled, wondering a little whether the girl was laughing at him; for though a man of forty-seven, who has for twenty years successfully resisted a trying climate, may consider himself as very far from the burden of old age, it was conceivable that the views of a maiden in her teens might be very different.

"It's because I am having such a good time," he hazarded. "You and your mother are responsible, you know; before I met you at the Savoy, on that memorable evening, I was feeling as blue as—as the sky ought to be if it had any decency, and at least as old as the river. I suppose it's true that youth and good spirits are contagious."

Dorothy gazed at him for a moment reflectively. "How lucky it was that Uncle Philip took us to the theatre on that evening! It was just a chance. And we might never have met you."

"It was lucky for me!" declared the other simply. "But would you have cared?"

"Of course!" said the girl promptly, but lowering her blue eyes. "You see, I have never known a real live hero before. Do tell me about your fight in the hill-fort, or how you caught the Dacoits! Uncle Philip says that you ought to have had the V.C."

Sir Geoffrey replied by a little disparaging murmur. "Oh, it was quite a commonplace affair—all in the day's work. Any one else would have done the same."

Dorothy settled herself back among her cushions resentfully, clasping her hands, rather sunburned, across her knees.

"I should like to see them!" she declared contemptuously. "That's just what that Jack Wilgress said—at least he implied it. It is true, he apologised afterwards. How I despise Oxford boys!"

"I thought he was a very good fellow," said Sir Geoffrey,