"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.

"Nothing particular; but I presume your sister has." There was just a
hint of irony in the quiet rejoinder.