"Oh, ho!" said I. "Now I begin to understand. We are expected to
combine business and pleasure this trip--eh?"
"If you mean to suggest that I have been talking the matter over with
Lady Bulstrode," said George coldly, "you are quite mistaken. At the
same time, I know she would be only too pleased to see you make a
sensible marriage. She has often asked after you when you've been
away, and when she heard you were in London she insisted on my
sending her your address at once."
"Lady Bulstrode," I said, "is a dear old soul. I've always been in
love with her ever since I was a kid at Strathmore and she used to
ask me over to Grendon to shoot rabbits. By the way, who's living at
Strathmore now?"
George looked at me a little suspiciously. I think he believed me
guilty of trying to change the conversation.
"There's no one there at present," he replied, "except old Donald
Ross and his wife. I want to sell the place if I can; it's no good
to us."
"Oh, don't sell it," I protested. "It's the only one of our numerous
family mansions I could ever stand." Then I paused. "I left a boat
there last time I was in England," I added. "I wonder what's
happened to it?"
"I should imagine it was there still," replied George.