"I go back to the regiment, Mrs. Warriner," he said, "the regiment of the soldiers of fortune. I have had my furlough--four months' furlough. I cannot complain." He endeavoured to speak gaily and to bow with grace. "Good-bye," said Charnock. Miranda was implacably silent. "And they call women the softer sex," said the Major. "One moment," exclaimed Miranda, taking no notice of his remark. "Mr. Wilbraham has a letter from my husband about the Daventry gun." "It is mine," answered the Major; "it was written to me." "I will buy it," said Charnock. "For a thousand--?" "No; for permission to answer this prepaid telegram to Scotland Yard." "In your name?" "In my name." "You're not a bad fellow, Charnock," said the Major as he drew out his pocket-book. He handed the letter to Charnock, looked at him curiously, and then laughed softly, without malice. "O lover of my life! O soldier-saint!" he quoted. "A great poet, what? Do you know Ralph Warriner? Will you play Caponsacchi to his Guido? You might; very likely you will." The Major took the reply form and turned away. "It is not always a profitable habit, it seems," said Miranda, "that habit of following." "A little mean!" said the Major, gently. "Perhaps, too, a little overdone," and as he went out of the patio Miranda flushed and felt ashamed. Then the flush faded from her cheeks and left her white, for she was alone with Charnock and had to make her account with him. CHAPTER XVI EXPLAINS WHY CHARNOCK SAW MIRANDA'S FACE IN HIS MIRROR Miranda rose nervously from her chair. She made an effort to speak, which failed, and then yielding to a peremptory impulse she ran away. It was only, however, into her parlour that she ran, and thither Charnock followed her. She stood up rather quickly in the farthest corner of the room as soon as he entered, drew a pattern with her foot upon the floor, and tried to appear entirely at her ease. She did not look at Charnock, however; on the contrary she kept her eyes upon the ground, and felt very much like a school-girl who is going to be punished. "Your husband is alive." Charnock's voice was cold and stern. Miranda resented it all the more because she knew she deserved nothing less than sternness. "Did you," he continued, "learn that from Wilbraham for the first time this morning?" "No," she answered, and since she had found her voice, she added rebelliously, "No, teacher," and was at once aware that levity was not in the best of taste. Charnock perhaps was not at that moment in a mood for jocularities. "How long have you known that your husband was alive?" he asked. "Five months," she answered. "Who told you?" "You." There was a moment's pause. Miranda's foot described more figures on the floor, and with great assiduity. "I beg your pardon," said Charnock. "It is very humorous, no doubt, but--"