as Whalley knew. He gave "Harry, old boy," to understand that these
three girls were a source of the greatest anxiety and worry to him.
Enough to drive a man distracted.

"Why? What have they been doing now?" asked Captain Whalley with a sort
of amused absent-mindedness.

"Doing! Doing nothing. That's just it. Lawn-tennis and silly novels from
morning to night. . . ."

If one of them at least had been a boy. But all three! And, as ill-luck
would have it, there did not seem to be any decent young fellows left
in the world. When he looked around in the club he saw only a lot of
conceited popinjays too selfish to think of making a good woman happy.
Extreme indigence stared him in the face with all that crowd to keep at
home. He had cherished the idea of building himself a little house in
the country--in Surrey--to end his days in, but he was afraid it was out
of the question, . . . and his staring eyes rolled upwards with such
a pathetic anxiety that Captain Whalley charitably nodded down at him,
restraining a sort of sickening desire to laugh.

"You must know what it is yourself, Harry. Girls are the very devil for
worry and anxiety."

"Ay! But mine is doing well," Captain Whalley pronounced slowly, staring
to the end of the avenue.

The Master-Attendant was glad to hear this. Uncommonly glad. He
remembered her well. A pretty girl she was.