"I'm not objecting to his manners, major, and I'm not defending my own," said Spalding. "I'm simply naming him a bounder." O'Grady took up his cigarette, and turned his back on the keyboard. "What are ye kicking about?" he inquired. "Well," replied Spalding, anxiously examining the ceiling, "I happen to know things about him." "Ye're a gossip, me boy, that's what ye are," cried the major, "and of all contemptible things, the worst is a male gossip. What do ye happen to know about him, me boy?" A faint smile played across the lieutenant's upturned face; but the impatient major did not notice it. "To begin with, he's some sort of cousin to a Miss Travers, an English girl whom Hemming is in love with," said Spalding. "Then you object to him on purely social grounds," interrupted the Irishman. "Oh, shut up, and let me tell my tale. Social grounds be shot--Miss Travers is daughter of a lord bish-hop. Penthouse is son of a baronet. What I'm getting at is that good old Hemming, just because this chap is related to his girl, has looked after him like a dry-nurse for more than a year. That is right enough. But--and this is not known by any one but me--Hemming backed a lot of his paper, and for the last two months he has been paying the piper. Once upon a time, in the memory of man, Hemming had some money, but I'll eat my helmet if he has any now." "How d'ye know all this?" asked O'Grady, letting his fat cigarette smoulder its life away unheeded. Spalding touched his eyes lightly with his finger-tips. "Saw," he said. The major gave vent to his feelings in muttered oaths, all the while keeping an observant eye upon his companion. "I'll wager now that Hemming has some good old Irish blood in him," he remarked. "Why do you think that?" asked Spalding, deliberately yawning. "His generosity leads me to think so. There are other officers of infantry regiments who'd be better off to-day, but for their kind hearts and Irish blood." The major sighed windily as he made this statement. "Methinks you mean Irish whiskey," retorted Spalding. With dignity O'Grady arose from the piano-stool. "I'll not listen to any more of your low gossip," he said, and started for the door, in a hurry to carry the news to any one he might find at home. "You needn't mention my name, sir," called Spalding, over his shoulder. His superior officer left the room without deigning a reply. CHAPTER II. HEMMING MEETS WITH A STRANGE RECEPTION Herbert Hemming sat alone in his room, while his brother officers sought their pleasure in divers companies. His writing-table was drawn close to the fire. His scarlet mess-jacket made a vivid spot of colour, in the softly illuminated room. He was busily occupied with the proofs of "The Colonel and the Lady," when his man rapped at the door and entered.