“Ah! who?” said Rowsley, squatting cross-legged on the turf.

“Jack began on it this afternoon, and I had to switch him off, for I didn’t care to own that it was news to me.”

“There’s nothing in it at present.”

“The duke has offered me the management of his Etchingham property,” said Val unwillingly.  “Oh no, not to give up Bernard:  Etchingham, you see, marches with Wanhope and the two could be run together.  He was awfully nice about it:  would take what time I could give him:  quite saw that Wanhope would have to come first.”

“How much?”

“Four hundred and an allowance for a house.  Five, to be precise, which is what he is giving Mills:  but of course I couldn’t take full time pay for a part-time job.”

Rowsley whistled.

“Yes, it would be very nice,” said Val, always temperate.  “It would practically be 300 pounds, for I couldn’t go on taking my full 300 pounds from Bernard.  I should get him to put on a young fellow to work under me.”

“It would make a lot of difference to you, even so.”

“To us,” Val corrected him.  “Another pound a week would oil the wheels of Isabel’s housekeeping.  And—­” he hesitated, but having gone so far one might as well go on—­“it would enable me to do two things I’ve long set my heart on, only it was no use saying so:  give you another hundred and fifty a year and insure my life in Isabel’s favour.  It would lift a weight off my mind if I could do that.  Suppose I were to die suddenly—­one never knows what would become of her?  She’ll be able to earn her own living after taking her degree in October, but women’s posts are badly paid and it’s uncommonly hard to save.  Oh yes, old boy, I know you’d look after her!  But I don’t want her to be a drag on you:  it’s bad enough now—­you never grumble, but I know what it’s like never to have a penny to spare.  Times have changed since I was in the Army, but nothing alters the fact that it’s uncommonly unpleasant to be worse off than other fellows.  I hate it for you—­all the more because you don’t grumble.  It is a constant worry to me not to be able to put you in a better position.”

Rowsley had been too long inured to this paternal tenderness to be sensible of its touching absurdity on the lips of a man not much older than himself.  But he was not a selfish youth, and he remonstrated with Val, though more like a son than a brother.  “Yes, I dare say, but where do you come in?  A stiff premium for Isabel and 50 pounds for Jim and 150 pounds for me doesn’t leave much change out of 300 pounds!”

“Oh, I’ve all I want.  Living at home, I don’t get the chance of spending a lot of pocket money.”

“Why don’t you close at once?”

“Because I can’t get an answer out of Bernard.  I’ve spoken to him but he won’t decide one way or the other.  And he’s my master, and I can’t take on another job if he objects.  That’s why I kept it dark at home:  what’s the good of raising hopes that may be disappointed?”