But Mr. Clive has made me a captain: his work is not yet done;
and I do not feel that I can leave him until I have done something to
justify his confidence in me."
"Well, boys will be boys. I have made a fortune here: I suppose you want
to do the same. 'Tis natural. But don't stay in India as long as I have.
I don't want to lose sight of you. You have done me the best service man
ever did: you have avenged my brother and restored to me all that I held
dearest in the world. I love you as a son, Desmond; I wish you were my
son, indeed, my boy."
Desmond looked a little uncomfortable.
"May I venture--" he began hesitatingly; "do you think, in some years'
time, if I get on here, I might--"
"Well?"
"Do you think I might--in short, that I might have a chance of becoming
your son, sir?"
"Eh? Is that it? Mr. Warren Hastings asked me the same question the other
day, Desmond. You can't both have her, you know. What does Phyllis say?"
"I--I haven't asked her, sir."
"Quite right. You're only a boy. Well, Hastings is to remain as assistant
to Mr. Scrafton, our new agent at Murshidabad. You remain as
assistant--or is it rival, eh--to Mr. Clive. You're both out of the way.
Phyllis may prefer Bulger."
"Bulger?"
"Yes. Didn't you know? Phyllis has taken a fancy to him; that hook of his
appears to be a most fascinating feature; and he will accompany us home."
Desmond laughed a little awkwardly.
"I hope--" he began.
"He won't hook her? But there, I mustn't make sport of such a serious
matter.
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