"
"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.
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