General Prioleau, like many others of his rank, had a strong affection for his old corps, a sort of sneaking regard which, although it did him all honour, led him to wish that he still commanded it, and to act very much as if he did. He was not the first general officer who, entrusted with the charge of several battalions, narrowed his interest to the one in which he had himself served. To dry-nurse the Duke’s Own on field days, to take an active share in its interior economy, to watch over its mess and all that appertained to the credit of the regiment, and generally to be as intimately associated with it as though he were still its colonel, were delights he could not forego. He was continually sending for Colonel Diggle to talk matters over, an interference which the great Cavendish resented, but was prohibited from protesting against, by the rules of the service. Mrs. Diggle was not, and took full advantage of her exemption from the restrictions of military etiquette, to the extent of soundly abusing the general upon every occasion. Not that General Prioleau much cared. He did not command Mrs. Cavendish-Diggle, and directly he had made her acquaintance in her new character, he was heartily glad that he did not. The general also visited the barracks of his old regiment repeatedly, on one excuse or another, but always with the avowed and really sincere intention of doing it a good turn. Now it was the reappropriation of quarters. Now the examination of drainage. Now the inspection of the married quarters or the canteen. Edith almost invariably accompanied him. She was in her element out here upon the Rock. The _rôle_ she now played was even more delightful than that of daughter of the regiment. There was much more importance and more movement in it. More variety too, and more power. Instead of knowing one regiment only, she now knew half a dozen. The circle of her acquaintance widened, and her military knowledge, such as it was. But her heart was with her first love always--the Duke’s Own. When the general inspected the old regiment, she stayed by his side through it all. They made her go in to lunch, much to quiet Mrs. Prioleau’s indignation when she heard of it; she sat on her pony close by the general, and, to judge by her remarks, seemed to take an active part in the whole proceedings. She kept up a running fire of comments. ‘There’s Mr. Wheeler; why, he’s getting quite old. And the sergeant-major, he’s gray; why do they keep him so long, father? He must be past his work before this. And Colonel Diggle--is he a _good_ colonel, father? _I_ don’t think so. Well, as you say, perhaps I’m not a judge of colonels, but I am of gentlemen, and I don’t call him a gentleman--not a real gentleman--do you?’ ‘My dear,’ the general said reprovingly, ‘you are a little too fast. Please remember--’