Colonel Quaritch, V.C. | Page 5

which in novels is generally known as aristocratic, a face, in fact,
that showed both birth and breeding. Indeed, as clothed in loose tweed
garments and a gigantic pair of top boots, his visitor stood leaning on
his long stick and resting himself after facing the hill, Harold Quaritch
thought that he had never seen a more perfect specimen of the typical
English country gentleman--as the English country gentleman used to
be.

"How do you do, sir, how do you do--my name is de la Molle. My man
George, who knows everybody's business except his own, told me that
you had arrived here, so I thought I would walk round and do myself
the honour of making your acquaintance."
"That is very kind of you," said the Colonel.
"Not at all. If you only knew how uncommonly dull it is down in these
parts you would not say that. The place isn't what it used to be when I
was a boy. There are plenty of rich people about, but they are not the
same stamp of people. It isn't what it used to be in more ways than
one," and the old Squire gave something like a sigh, and thoughtfully
removed his white hat, out of which a dinner napkin and two
pocket-handkerchiefs fell to the ground, in a fashion that reminded
Colonel Quaritch of the climax of a conjuring trick.
"You have dropped some--some linen," he said, stooping down to pick
the mysterious articles up.
"Oh, yes, thank you," answered his visitor, "I find the sun a little hot at
this time of the year. There is nothing like a few handkerchiefs or a
towel to keep it off," and he rolled the mass of napery into a ball, and
cramming it back into the crown, replaced the hat on his head in such a
fashion that about eight inches of white napkin hung down behind.
"You must have felt it in Egypt," he went on --"the sun I mean. It's a
bad climate, that Egypt, as I have good reason to know," and he pointed
again to his white hat, which Harold Quaritch now observed for the
first time was encircled by a broad black band.
"Ah, I see," he said, "I suppose that you have had a loss."
"Yes, sir, a very heavy loss."
Now Colonel Quaritch had never heard that Mr. de la Molle had more
than one child, Ida de la Molle, the young lady whose face remained so
strongly fixed in his memory, although he had scarcely spoken to her
on that one occasion five long years ago. Could it be possible that she
had died in Egypt? The idea sent a tremor of fear through him, though

of course there was no real reason why it should. Deaths are so
common.
"Not--not Miss de la Molle?" he said nervously, adding, "I had the
pleasure of seeing her once, a good many years ago, when I was
stopping here for a few days with my aunt."
"Oh, no, not Ida, she is alive and well, thank God. Her brother James.
He went all through that wretched war which we owe to Mr. Gladstone,
as I say, though I don't know what your politics are, and then caught a
fever, or as I think got touched by the sun, and died on his way home.
Poor boy! He was a fine fellow, Colonel Quaritch, and my only son,
but very reckless. Only a month or so before he died, I wrote to him to
be careful always to put a towel in his helmet, and he answered, in that
flippant sort of way he had, that he was not going to turn himself into a
dirty clothes bag, and that he rather liked the heat than otherwise. Well,
he's gone, poor fellow, in the service of his country, like many of his
ancestors before him, and there's an end of him."
And again the old man sighed, heavily this time.
"And now, Colonel Quaritch," he went on, shaking off his oppression
with a curious rapidity that was characteristic of him, "what do you say
to coming up to the Castle for your dinner? You must be in a mess here,
and I expect that old Mrs. Jobson, whom my man George tells me you
have got to look after you, will be glad enough to be rid of you for
to-night. What do you say?--take the place as you find it, you know. I
believe that there is a leg of mutton for dinner if there is nothing else,
because instead of minding his own business I saw George going off to
Boisingham to fetch it this morning. At least, that is what he said he
was going for; just an excuse to gossip and idle,