Ever since
the two men had graduated from Oxford it had been their custom to meet
at this spot and hour, when both chanced to be in town, and Durrance was
puzzled. It seemed to him that he had lost his friend as well.
Meanwhile, however, the rumours of war grew to a certainty; and when at
last Feversham kept the tryst, Durrance had news.
"I told you luck might look my way. Well, she has. I go out to Egypt on
General Graham's staff. There's talk we may run down the Red Sea to
Suakin afterward."
The exhilaration of his voice brought an unmistakable envy into
Feversham's eyes. It seemed strange to Durrance, even at that moment of
his good luck, that Harry Feversham should envy him--strange and rather
pleasant. But he interpreted the envy in the light of his own ambitions.
"It is rough on you," he said sympathetically, "that your regiment has
to stay behind."
Feversham rode by his friend's side in silence. Then, as they came to
the chairs beneath the trees, he said:--
"That was expected. The day you dined with me I sent in my papers."
"That night?" said Durrance, turning in his saddle. "After we had gone?"
"Yes," said Feversham, accepting the correction.
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