Stalky asked him how much leave he had, and he said
"Six months."
"But he'll take another six on medical certificate," said Agnes
anxiously. Adam knit his brows.
"You don't want to--eh? I know. Wonder what my second in command
is doing." Stalky tugged his moustache, and fell to thinking of
his Sikhs.
"Ah!" said the Infant. "I've only a few thousand pheasants to
look after. Come along and dress for dinner. We're just
ourselves. What flower is your honour's ladyship commanding for
the table?"
"Just ourselves?" she said, looking at the crotons in the great
hall. "Then let's have marigolds the little cemetery ones."
So it was ordered.
Now, marigolds to us mean hot weather, discomfort, parting, and
death. That smell in our nostrils, and Adam's servant in waiting,
we naturally fell back more and more on the old slang, recalling
at each glass those who had gone before. We did not sit at the
big table, but in the bay window overlooking the park, where they
were carting the last of the hay.
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