Miss Esperance showed no inclination to discuss the possible merits of this young woman, and Edmund continued, "Had you many advantages, Aunt Esperance?" "Certainly I had." "Then you was never a wench?" "Never!" "Why should he like a wench to sit on his knee, Aunt Esperance? She’d be very hot and heavy." "I really must refuse to discuss that song any more. Forget it as soon as you can, and never, never sing it again." "He was such a nice man," Edmund persisted. "He had such a beautiful helmet." "Perhaps," said Miss Esperance, "if you are both good boys I’ll take you over one day to Pier’s Hill to see the soldiers being drilled." And in this entrancing prospect Edmund forgot all about the "unsuitable" song. "Aunt Esperance would like you should come to tea with us this afternoon, Guardie, dear." It was Montagu who spoke. Lessons were over, but he had sought Mr. Wycherly again to deliver this message. "It is most kind of Miss Esperance," said Mr. Wycherly. "I shall of course be delighted and highly honoured, but why am I to have this treat to-day, is it a birthday?—No—I know it isn’t a birthday——" "Colonel Dundas is coming. He knew my daddie, and he knew my grandfather, and Aunt Esperance is very anxious he should see you. She said so." "Don’t you think," Mr. Wycherly said nervously, "that I might be a little in the way? If Colonel Dundas is such an old friend, they will have many things to talk over. Wouldn’t it be better for me to come some other time?" "No, it wouldn’t; I’m sure it wouldn’t. Aunt Esperance said that she most pertikler wants Colonel Dundas to see you. Do you think he’ll be able to sing, Guardie, dear?" "To sing," Mr. Wycherly repeated. "Why should he sing at tea-time?" "Well, the soldier Edmund saw (that gave him the ride—I wish I’d been there, I did hear something, but I thought it was just a butcher, perhaps), he could sing beautifully. Edmund said so. I thought perhaps all soldiers can sing." "Perhaps they can," said Mr. Wycherly. "I really don’t know. You can ask him when he comes. But not at tea-time, mind—that wouldn’t be polite. It seems to me, Montagu, that, as Colonel Dundas is coming, we might ask him if there is any sergeant in his regiment who would teach you to box—properly. No choking, you know, or anything of that sort—you must learn to keep your temper when you fight." "But, Guardie, dear, I should never want to fight at all if I kept my temper. It’s when I’m angry I want to fight. What’s the good of fighting with someone you’re perfectly pleased with?" "You won’t feel perfectly pleased when you’ve been cuffed about the head pretty hard, but you must behave as if you were, and that’s where the good training comes in. No one can box properly who is in a rage. It would be good for you to learn." "Will Edmund learn?" "Certainly, if you do; but he needs it less than you."