“I hope not,” replied Mount, with a smile into his companion’s face. “I’m very much in love with her myself. If it hadn’t been for ‘the Division’ I should have been where Lacquers is at this moment. Look what my patriotism has cost me, but I don’t regret it _now_,” and he emphasised the monosyllable with an almost imperceptible pressure of the arm that hung upon his own, a movement that had little effect on Mrs. Blacklamb, with whom flirtation (whatever that comprehensive word may mean) was the daily business of life. “Why, you know you would have married her, and too happy if she had only been the catch you all thought she was,” replied the lady. “I must say I could not help being delighted, though I was sorry for _her_, poor girl, to see you all ‘getting out’ just as you do when some racehorse breaks down, trying which could be first to pull himself clear of the scrape, and leave his neighbours in the lurch. Major D’Orville behaved _shamefully_, and you still worse, for she really was fond of _you_.” “Mount’s” imperturbable good-humour was proof against quizzing, so the sneer fell harmless, and he replied carelessly, “Fond? of course she was, but not so _very_ fond--no. Mrs. Blacklamb, I’m easily imposed on by ladies. I think it’s my diffidence that stands so much in my way; even where my affections are most irrevocably engaged, where I worship is hopeless constancy, and I feel my heart breaking, and my--my--my hair coming out of curl, I dare not ask my enslaver more than whether she will have a glass of wine. Give Mrs. Blacklamb some champagne, and I’ll have a little sherry, if you please;” so the pair went on jesting and philandering and making fools of each other and of themselves, but they troubled their heads no more about the couple in the conservatory; and when “Mount” deserted his fair companion and returned into the ball-room, as he said, “to dance just once with Miss Kettering, in common decency,” he sought her in vain, for she was gone. “Uncle Baldwin,” said Blanche, when they reached home, and lingered a moment in the drawing-room before retiring--“Uncle Baldwin, I’ve got something to say to you.” Blanche blushed and hesitated, and looked at the little white satin shoe she was resting on the fender in every possible point of view. “To-night at the ball, I--that’s to say, Captain Lacquers--in short, I dare say you remarked--in the conservatory, you know--Oh, Uncle Baldwin, _he proposed_ to me,” and Blanche, half-laughing, half-crying, and blushing over her neck and shoulders, hid her face on the breast of the General’s coat, as she used to do when she had been a naughty little girl and repented, ten years ago. “Zounds! Blanche, what did you say?” burst out the General, in a terrible taking, as he thought now everything must come out. “Yes or No, my darling, don’t keep me in suspense--which is it, heads or tails? in or out? I mean, Yes or No?”