"Oh, yes, ultimately. I like Mr. Salwey; I always think it is such a pity that he is not in the Service!" "I am sure he thoroughly agrees with you," sneered Mrs. Barwell. "And why is he not in the Army?" "Well, it is all owing to his stepmother," explained Mrs. Palgrave. "George knows his father, Colonel Salwey, such a smart dapper old beau. He came in for a very nice property after he left the Army; his wife died, leaving this one boy, to whom he was apparently devoted." "_Was_--yes?" "But at some foreign watering-place he came across a pretty little fluffy-haired, plaintive widow, who beguiled him into marrying her, and completely metamorphosed the old gentleman. Brian Salwey failed for his first examination at Sandhurst; then he quarrelled with his odious stepmother, so got no second chance. She bundled him out of his father's house, out of the country, and into the Indian police: for she did not want a great big stepson hanging about at home." "Oh, here they all come," exclaimed Mrs. Barwell, as five men followed one another into the room. The first to enter was Colonel Palgrave, a tall, handsome, soldierly man, a little bald, with a hearty, cheery voice; Major Barwell, a short, formal-looking gentleman, with a skin like a winter apple--considerably older than his wife; Captain Prescott, a dark young man, in polo kit, with a sallow complexion; Charles Young, a handsome boy--though two-and-twenty, he looked about nineteen--bubbling over with good humour, vitality, and _joie de vivre_. Last, not least, Brian Salwey. These men soon dispersed themselves about the room, each seeking the lady of his choice (they were all apparently acquainted with Dominga Chandos--and perhaps a little surprised to find her in the present company; when Charlie's merry eyes fell on her, he blushed up to his ears), and presently the talk grew loud and brisk, concerning "shop" and theatricals, theatricals and "shop." "I do think it is such a shame," said Mrs. Barwell, during a pause in the general buzz, "that my husband won't allow _me_ to act," and she looked at him coquettishly. "It is really too bad of you, Bingham, to have such strict old-fashioned ideas. I know"--addressing the company--"you all have such fun at the rehearsals." "I don't know what _you_ call fun," remarked Captain Prescott, with an aggrieved air. "It's worse than being at school again. I had to mug up my part with a wet towel round my head. I worked myself up to a tremendous pitch for a great love scene, and was told for my pains that my voice sounded for all the world like a dog, whining outside a door!--so naturally I chucked." "Oh, I assure you, it's not all beer and skittles, Mrs. Barwell," supplemented Charles Young, who was half sitting on a table. "What _do_ you think. They want me to cut off my moustache!" At this there was a roar of laughter, his moustache being represented by a very faint outline of delicate down.