“Miss Kellett was disposed to test your Crimean habits again, my good fellow,” said Dunn, “by keeping you out there under this terrible rain, and I perceive you have got some rough treatment already;” and he looked at the armless sleeve of his jacket. “Yes,” said Conway, laughing, “a piece of Russian politeness!” Few as were the words, the tone and manner of the speaker struck Dunn with astonishment, and he said,-- “Have you been long in the service?” “Some years,” was the short reply. “It's very strange,” said Dunn, regarding him fixedly, “but your features are quite familiar to me. You are very like a young officer who cut such a dash here formerly,--a spendthrift fellow, in a Lancer regiment.” “Pray don't involve yourself in any difficulty,” said Conway, “for, perhaps--indeed, I 'm convinced--you are describing myself.” “Conway, of the Twelfth?” “The same, at your service,--at least, in so far as being ruined and one-armed means the same with the fellow who had a good fortune, and two hands to scatter it.” “I must go. I 'm impatient to be away,” said Sybella, eagerly. “Then there is the carriage at the door,” said Dunn. “This time I have resolved to have my way;” and he gave her his arm courteously to conduct her. “Could you call upon me to-morrow--could you breakfast with me, Mr. Conway?” said Dunn, as he gave him his hand at parting; “my request is connected with a subject of great importance to yourself.” “I 'm your man,” said Conway, as he followed Sybella into the carriage. And away they drove. CHAPTER XXIII. A BREAKFAST-TABLE When, punctual to the appointed time, Charles Conway presented himself at Mr. Dunn's door, he learned to his astonishment that that gentleman had gone out an hour before to breakfast with the Chief Secretary in the Park. “But I came by invitation to breakfast with your master,” said he. “Possibly so,” said Clowes, scanning the simply clad soldier before him. “He never mentioned it to me; that's all I know.” Conway stood for a moment, half uncertain what to say; then, with a quiet smile, he said, “Pray tell him that I was here,--my name is Conway.” “As to the breakfast part of the matter,” said Clowes, who felt “rather struck” by something in the soldier's manner, as he afterwards expressed it, “I 'm just about to take mine; you might as well join me.” Conway looked him full in the face,--such a stare was it as a man gives when he questions the accuracy of his own senses; a slight flush then rose to his cheek, and his lip curled, and then, with a saucy laugh that seemed to combat the passing irritation he was suffering, he said, “It's not a bad notion, after all; I'm your man.” Now, though Mr. Clowes had anticipated a very different reception to his politeness, he said nothing, but led the way into his sanctum, trusting to the locality and its arrangement to have their due effect upon his guest. Indeed, in this respect, he did but fair justice to the comforts around him.