something to improve our prospects. Our position is really so
mediocre. . . And Cloete smiles, but isn't surprised, because he
had put all these notions himself into her empty head. . . What
your husband wants is enterprise, a little audacity. You can
encourage him best, Mrs. Dunbar. . . She was a silly, extravagant
little fool. Had made George take a house in Norwood. Live up to
a lot of people better off than themselves. I saw her once; silk
dress, pretty boots, all feathers and scent, pink face. More like
the Promenade at the Alhambra than a decent home, it looked to me.
But some women do get a devil of a hold on a man."

"Yes, some do," I assented. "Even when the man is the husband."

"My missis," he addressed me unexpectedly, in a solemn,
surprisingly hollow tone, "could wind me round her little finger.
I didn't find it out till she was gone. Aye. But she was a woman
of sense, while that piece of goods ought to have been walking the
streets, and that's all I can say. . . You must make her up out of
your head. You will know the sort."

"Leave all that to me," I said.

"H'm!" he grunted, doubtfully, then going back to his scornful
tone: "A month or so afterwards the Sagamore arrives home. All
very jolly at first. . . Hallo, George boy! Hallo, Harry, old man!
. . . But by and by Captain Harry thinks his clever brother is not
looking very well. And George begins to look worse. He can't get
rid of Cloete's notion. It has stuck in his head. . . There's
nothing wrong--quite well. . . Captain Harry still anxious.
Business going all right, eh? Quite right. Lots of business.