“But I mind very much; and besides,” with a laugh, “nothing makes a fellow feel so cheap as dirty boots.” “I thought you were accustomed to feeling cheap,” said Honor, with a playful allusion to his nickname. “No,” throwing the reins to his syce and mounting the steps, “I much prefer to be _dear_.” “Dear--at any price!” exclaimed Miss Valpy, who, instead of chatting with Captain Scrope, was giving her attention to Mr. Jervis. “Dear at _any_ price,” emphatically. “How did you enjoy the interior?” turning to Honor. “It was delightful.” “Any adventures this time? Any buffaloes, Mrs. Brande?” “No, thank goodness, for I have the same wretches of Jampannis.” “And you, Miss Gordon? Had you no adventures?” Miss Gordon coloured vividly, and muttered an inaudible reply, as she deliberately put the tea-cosy over the sugar-bowl. He recalled this little incident long afterwards, and then read its meaning. “Here is Scrope waiting for a cup of tea after his hard day,” he said, suddenly turning the subject and slapping Captain Scrope on his solid shoulder. “Scrope is wasting to a shadow with work, work, work.” He and Captain Scrope were enthusiastic fellow-artists and racket-players. “Yes, it’s a fact; it’s nothing but schools and classes, and drill and drawing maps. The army is not what it was,” remarked Captain Scrope, a round-faced, portly individual with a merry countenance. “We have garrison classes, signalling classes, musketry classes; but the most odious class I have ever attended is the meat class! I never bargained for all this sort of thing when I came into the service----” “What _did_ you bargain for? What would you like? Do pray name it?” urged Miss Valpy. “Well, since you ask me, a nice gentlemanly parade once a week, would, in _my_ opinion, fulfil all requirements.” “How moderate!” she exclaimed sarcastically. “Has any one been to see poor Sir Gloster? It must be so dull for him sitting all day with his eyes bandaged.” “Yes, I looked in yesterday, he was quite cheery and chatty.” “Nonsense! What did he talk about?” “Well--a--chiefly himself.” “Rather a dry topic,” muttered Jervis, _sotto-voce_. Captain Scrope laughed. “He is by no means so dull as you suppose,” he rejoined significantly. “No; Miss Paske is a sympathetic little creature, and has a pleasant voice,” observed Miss Valpy, with a satirical tightening of the lips. “By the way, with his chubby cheeks and bandaged eyes, did Sir Gloster not strike you as a grotesque copy of the god Cupid?” “To quote the immortal Mrs. Gamp--I don’t believe there was ever such a person. Do you, Jervis?” “Mr. Jervis will not agree with you,” rejoined Miss Valpy, scrutinizing him critically. What sincere eyes he had--eyes only for Honor Gordon--and there was a wonderful amount of dormant force in the curve of that well-formed chin and jaw. “I am not a coarse heretic like Captain Scrope, but I cannot say that I have ever made his personal acquaintance.”