Herbert answered all these questions except the last. ‘You don’t choose to tell that, eh? Oh, with all my heart. It’s none of my business. But now, if Miss Prioleau does not want you--that will do; you can go.’ Herbert saluted, and walked off. Directly the door was shut, the major turned to Edith, and said, ‘You ought not to be so familiar with private soldiers. You mustn’t do that again, Miss E.’ ‘I shall do as I please, and don’t choose to be called Miss E., Major Diggle.’ He equally hated to be called Diggle without the Cavendish. ‘I shall tell the colonel,’ he said rather angrily, as he left the room. She only made a face after him when he had gone, as though she did not care a bit what he did. There was no love lost between these two. The child, with intuitive perception, disliked the _parvenu’s_ pretentious airs. He thought her, _en revanche_, a very pert and forward child, who ought to be snubbed and kept in her place. There were one or two old feuds between them, too. He had accused her, although she hotly repudiated the charge, of telling tales. He had caught her, he declared, looking out of the windows, to see and tell her father what officers came late for parade. She, on the other hand, had discovered, and had announced her discovery openly, that he wore--not a wig--but one of Unwin and Albert’s coverings for bald heads; and Diggle, who was proud of his looks, did not like it at all. It was not likely, therefore, that any friend of Edith’s would find much favour with the major. But even if she had been disposed to champion the erudite recruit, so young and obscure a soldier was really beneath the notice of the great Cavendish Diggle. By-and-bye Herbert might prove a thorn in the major’s side, and give him many anxious hours--but that time was still to come. Meanwhile, Herbert Larkins pursued the even tenour of his ways, taking the rough with the smooth, but finding that the first considerably preponderated. What he lacked most were congenial companions and agreeable occupation for his idle hours. Herbert found the time hang very heavy on his hands. He could not bring himself to spend hours with Joe Hanlon in the canteen; nor, indeed, did ‘the Boy’ wish him to do so. Hanlon was ambitious for his young comrade, and he knew the way to preferment too well to encourage Herbert to take to drink. There was nothing left by way of amusement, after all needful polishing and cleaning-up was done, but patrolling the Triggertown streets, and frequenting such ginshops and music-halls as suffered private soldiers in the Queen’s uniform to pass their doors.