“It’s going to be deuced warm,” said Tommy.

“Have a smoke?” said Monck, proffering his case.

The boy smiled with swift gratification.  “Oh, thanks awfully!  But it’s a shame to hurry over a good cigar, and I promised Stella to go straight back.”

“A promise is a promise,” said Monck.  “Have it later!” He added rather curtly, “I’m going your way myself.”

“Good!” said Tommy heartily.  “But aren’t you going to show at the Club House?  Aren’t you going to dance?”

Monck tossed down his lighted match and set his heel on it.  “I’m keeping my dancing for to-morrow,” he said.  “The best man always has more than enough of that.”

Tommy made a gloomy sound that was like a groan and began to descend the steps by his side.  They walked several paces along the dim road in silence; then quite suddenly he burst into impulsive speech.

“I’ll tell you what it is, Monck!”

“I shouldn’t,” said Monck.

Tommy checked abruptly, looking at him oddly, uncertainly.  “How do you know what I was going to say?” he demanded.

“I don’t,” said Monck.

“I believe you do,” said Tommy, unconvinced.

Monck blew forth a cloud of smoke and laughed in his brief, rather grudging way.  “You’re getting quite clever for a child of your age,” he observed.  “But don’t overdo it, my son!  Don’t get precocious!”

Tommy’s hand grasped his arm confidentially.  “Monck, if I don’t speak out to someone, I shall bust!  Surely you don’t mind my speaking out to you!”

“Not if there’s anything to be gained by it,” said Monck.

He ignored the friendly, persuasive hand on his arm, but yet in some fashion Tommy knew that it was not unwelcome.  He kept it there as he made reply.

“There isn’t.  Only, you know, old chap, it does a fellow good to unburden himself.  And I’m bothered to death about this business.”

“A bit late in the day, isn’t it?” suggested Monck.

“Oh yes, I know; too late to do anything.  But,” Tommy spoke with force, “the nearer it gets, the worse I feel.  I’m downright sick about it, and that’s the truth.  How would you feel, I wonder, if you knew your one and only sister was going to marry a rotter?  Would you be satisfied to let things drift?”

Monck was silent for a space.  They walked on over the dusty road with the free swing of the conquering race.  One or two ’rickshaws met them as they went, and a woman’s voice called a greeting; but though they both responded, it scarcely served as a diversion.  The silence between them remained.

Monck spoke at last, briefly, with grim restraint.  “That’s rather a sweeping assertion of yours.  I shouldn’t repeat it if I were you.”

“It’s true all the same,” maintained Tommy.  “You know it’s true.”

“I know nothing,” said Monck.  “I’ve nothing whatever against Dacre.”

“You’ve nothing in favour of him anyway,” growled Tommy.