I would have written had I known where to
write."
If he had any suspicion of Durrance's visit, he gave no sign of it. He
rang the bell, and tea was brought into the great hall where the
portraits hung. He asked after this and that officer in the Soudan with
whom he was acquainted, he discussed the iniquities of the War Office,
and feared that the country was going to the deuce.
"Everything through ill-luck or bad management is going to the devil,
sir," he exclaimed irritably. "Even you, Durrance, you are not the same
man who walked with me on my terrace two years ago."
The general had never been remarkable for tact, and the solitary life he
led had certainly brought no improvement. Durrance could have countered
with a _tu quoque_, but he refrained.
"But I come upon the same business," he said.
Feversham sat up stiffly in his chair.
"And I give you the same answer. I have nothing to say about Harry
Feversham. I will not discuss him."
He spoke in his usual hard and emotionless voice. He might have been
speaking of a stranger. Even the name was uttered without the slightest
hint of sorrow. Durrance began to wonder whether the fountains of
affection had not been altogether dried up in General Feversham's heart.
Pages:
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374