CHAPTER XXVI
“ You are right. My real name is Harry Lucas. My father was a retired soldier who came out to farm in Rhodesia. He died when I was in my second year at Cambridge.”
“ Were you fond of him?” I asked suddenly.
“ I—don’t know.”
Then he flushed and went on with sudden vehemence:
“ Why do I say that? I did love my father. We said bitter things to each other the last time I saw him, and we had many rows over my wildness and my debts, but I cared for the old man. I know how much now—when it’s too late,” he continued more quietly. “It was at Cambridge that I met the other fellow——”
“ Young Eardsley?”
“ Yes—young Eardsley. His father, as you know, was one of South Africa’s most prominent men. We drifted together at once, my friend and I. We had our love of Sou
