This, however, was but a passing thought; the passage which interested him most of all was about Hunter. Where and for what could he have left, then? It was a regiment he had served in since he entered the army. What could have led him to exchange? and why, when he did so, had he not written him one line--even one--to say as much? It was to serve under Hunter, his father's old aide-de-camp in times back, that he had entered that regiment; to be with him, to have his friendship, his counsels, his guidance. Colonel Hunter had treated him like a son in every respect, and Conyers felt in his heart that this same affection and interest it was which formed his strongest tie to the service. The question, “Would you go with him if he gave you the offer?” was like a reflection on him, while no such option had been extended to him. What more natural, after all, than such an offer? so Stapylton thought,--so all the world would think. How he thought over the constantly recurring questions of his brother-officers: “Why didn't you go with Hunter?” “How came it that Hunter did not name you on his staff?” “Was it fair--was it generous in one who owed all his advancement to his father--to treat him in this fashion?” “Were the ties of old friendship so lax as all this?” “Was distance such an enemy to every obligation of affection?” “Would his father believe that such a slight had been passed upon him undeservedly? Would not the ready inference be, 'Hunter knew you to be incapable,--unequal to the duties he required. Hunter must have his reasons for passing you over'?” and such like. These reflections, very bitter in their way, were broken in upon by a request from Miss Barrington for his company at breakfast. Strange enough, he had half forgotten that there was such a person in the world, or that he had spent the preceding evening very pleasantly in her society. “I hope you have had a pleasant letter,” said she, as he entered, with Stapylton's note still in his hand. “I can scarcely call it so, for it brings me news that our Colonel--a very dear and kind friend to me--is about to leave us.” “Are these not the usual chances of a soldier's life? I used to be very familiar once on a time with such topics.” “I have learned the tidings so vaguely, too, that I can make nothing of them. My correspondent is a mere acquaintance,--a brother officer, who has lately joined us, and cannot feel how deeply his news has affected me; in fact, the chief burden of his letter is to convey an invitation to me, and he is full of country-house people and pleasures. He writes from a place called Cobham.” “Sir Charles Cobham's. One of the best houses in the county.” “Do you know them?” asked Conyers, who did not, till the words were out, remember how awkward they might prove.