‘He’s not a gentleman according to my ideas. There are lots of better gentlemen in the ranks--why,’ almost with a shriek, ‘there’s my friend the learned pig--I mean the learned orderly. And, father, look! do look! They’ve made him a colour-sergeant--already!’ But her father was not attending. ‘Be good enough to form open column, pile arms, and lay out kits,’ he was saying to Colonel Diggle, which manœuvre satisfactorily carried out, the general continued his inspection on foot, accompanied by his daughter, who tripped along, holding up her habit, nodding to old friends as she went along, and so deeply interested in holdalls, tins of blacking, and pairs of socks, that you might have thought kit inspection was the one joy of her life. ‘I am very glad to see you’ve got on so quickly,’ she said gravely to young Colour-Sergeant Larkins, as she touched him on the arm with her whip by way of emphasis. ‘You promised well, and I am pleased to think I was not disappointed,’ went on the young personage, with the air of a queen-regnant reviewing her troops. It was a gracious sight, and one no man--an impressionable young sergeant like Larkins least of all--was likely to forget. The trim figure in its snow-white habit, the pretty bright face and its framework of light curls, surmounted with a coquettish little white hat; the air with which she pointed with her whip to his chevrons and the bright colours surmounting them, as she tripped daintily along. Never before or afterwards did Edith Prioleau seem more bewitching, and Herbert Larkins felt that he could lay down his life for her then and there.