It was to me he spoke. I laughed, and apologized; saying that his face put me in mind of some other face I had seen, but I could not remember whose. This was true. It was true also that I had been looking at him more fixedly than the strict rules of etiquette might require: but I had not an idea that he was observing me. "I thought you might be wishing to take my portrait," said the captain, turning away to whisper to Helen. "More likely to take your _character_," jestingly struck in Bill, with more zeal than discretion. "Johnny Ludlow sees through everybody; reads faces off like a book." Captain Foliott wheeled sharply round at the words, and stood before me, his eyes gazing straight into mine. "Can you read my face?" he asked. "What do you see there?" "I see that you have been a soldier: your movements tell me that: right-about, face; quick march," answered I, turning the matter off with a jest. Tod opportunely struck in. "How _could_ you leave the army?" he asked with emphasis. "I only wish I had the chance of joining it." Though he knew that he had better not let the Squire hear him say so. "It was a blow," acknowledged Foliott. "One does meet with raps in this world. But, you see, it was a case of--of the indulgence of my own gratification weighed in the scale against that of my mother: and I let my side go up. My uncle also came down upon me with his arguments and his opposition, and altogether I found myself nowhere. I believe he and she are equally persuaded that nobody ever comes out of India alive." "Who will take my letter to the post?" called out Lady Whitney. All of us volunteered to do it, and went out together. We met Sir John and the Squire strolling about the village rubbing their red faces, and saying how intensely hot it was. They left us to regale ourselves at the pastry-cook's, and sauntered on towards the dark trees shading that deep descent on which the hotel windows looked out. We found them sitting on one of the benches there. "Well, Foliott!" cried Sir John. "You'd not have found it hotter than this in India." "Not so hot, Sir John. But I like heat." "How do-you-do?" struck in a big, portly gentleman, who was sitting on the same bench as the Squire and Sir John, and whose face was even redder than theirs. "Did not expect to meet you here." Captain Foliott, who was the one addressed, wheeled round to the speaker in that sharp way of his, and was evidently taken by surprise. His manner was cold; never a smile sat on his face as he answered-- "Oh, is it you, Mr. Crane! Are you quite well? Staying at Malvern?" "For an hour or two. I am passing a few days at Worcester, and my friends there would not let me go on without first bringing me to see Malvern."