"I forgot," she said, "that I was addressing an expert. Tell me, d'you
think I shall get over it?"
"If you don't," said I, "it shan't be my fault."
"You're very good."
"Not at all," said I. "Can you spell 'homoeopathy'?"
* * * * *
For a man who had just parted with the home of his fathers, poor old Sir
Anthony was in high spirits. Lock, stock and barrel, Merry Down had been
sold to the highest bidder. Of that there was no manner of doubt. What
was more to the point was that the purchaser, who had paid a good price,
was of English blood, and had known Derry Bagot at Eton, and soldiered
with him first in South Africa and afterwards in France. The place had
passed into good clean hands and was to be well cared for.
"A very civil fellow," said Sir Anthony, whom we had brought back to
White Ladies to tea, "and a sportsman. I'm truly thankful. Spoke so
nicely of Derry--said he'd always looked up to him and he was proud to
think he was to carry on his--his home." His voice faltered, and
something of the old stricken look hung for an instant in the keen grey
eyes. The next moment it was ousted by the flash of victory, and they
were bent upon me. "So you deported the alien to Ramilly? Gad, but I'd
've liked to see the terrier bring him down.
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