Derrick smiled, and coloured.
"There's something weird about you, Rex," he said. "You'll be a great
success as a novelist; you know human nature. Yes--it's strange!--I'm
longing to tell someone of the great happiness that has fallen to me."
"Tell away," said Rex. "Of course, I saw, the moment you came in sight,
that it was all right. You walked as if you were treading on asphodel,
and you carried your head as if you'd bought the whole world. I'm very
glad." He sighed and shook his head. "Yes, I'm glad, though I love her
myself--in a way. But I'm going to be a brother to her, and
therefore--if you'll permit me--to you, too. I hope you have made her
very happy."
"I hope so," responded Derrick; "and I hope to make her happy all her
life."
"You'll be married soon, I suppose?"
"Yes, if Celia will consent," replied Derrick, looking before him as if
he saw a vista of ecstatic years stretching into infinity. "I will marry
her as soon as she will have me, and I will take her to South America,
where I have work--and friends," he added, as he remembered Donna
Elvira.
"Of course, she'll go with you anywhere," said Reggie. "You're a lucky
man, Green! But I'm sorry you're going so far away. I shall lose you
both. You see, I include your honoured self, because, as I have said, I
have already a sneaking fondness for you. May one, without being too
intrusive, ask if it is necessary for you to leave your native land?"
"It is," said Derrick, quietly. "I've no place, no foothold here--and
there are other reasons with which I needn't bother you."
"Oh, you wouldn't bother me; but I'm not curious. Or, rather, I am, but
friendship sets a limit to my curiosity. Well, I must be going. I am to
make an after-dinner call, by invitation, on a lady. Literally a
lady--Lady Gridborough." Derrick turned his head sharply, and Reggie,
noticing the movement, asked blandly, "Know her?"
"I've heard of her," answered Derrick, shortly.
"Delightful old lady," observed Reggie. "As she is a great friend of
Miss Grant's, you'll come to know her, of course. She is very kind to me
and asks me up to the Grange, that's her place, to smoke a cigarette
when I've done my work; indeed, whenever I care to go. Sometimes we
talk, sometimes I wander about the garden. She regards me as something
between an orphan child and a freak of nature; to her, an author is a
kind of imbecile which is to be humoured and cossetted. Well, so long!
Shall I tell you what you'll do for the rest of the evening? Yes, I will
tell you, whether you want me to do so or not. You will sit here and
moon----"