A light dawned upon General Brandon. He grasped the ex–sutler’s hand as cordially as if he had been an officer of the British Army. “Certainly I do. You knew me before the war.” All Virginians divide time into three epochs, before the war, during the war, and after the war. “And a very excellent sutler you were. I recall that you had a good, industrious wife and several promising children. You look prosperous. The world seems to have gone well with you.” “Pretty well,” replied Clavering, ignoring the mention of his wife and children. He had a voice of music which added to his other personal advantages. “I hope the same is the case with you?” The General smiled placidly. “I resigned from the army when my state seceded, and went through four years on the battlefields of Virginia, and I attained the rank of brigadier–general. Then I entered the service of the Khedive of Egypt and served in Egypt for eight years, but you know what has fallen out there. So I have returned to Washington, and through the influence of old army friends I have secured a clerkship in the War Department.” “Pretty hard lines, isn’t it?” asked Clavering, looking at General Brandon’s seedy greatcoat, and knowing what stupendous changes were involved in the story told so smilingly by the time–worn veteran. “Scarcely that,” answered General Brandon, with the same gentleness of tone and smile. “I have a small house here in rather a good part of the town, and my salary is sufficient for my simple wants and those of my daughter, who has no extravagant tastes. Thanks to my old army friends I am here, and they have met me with extraordinary kindness and good–will and shown me much hospitality. On the whole I think myself decidedly well off, all things considered.” Clavering looked at General Brandon with pity and good–natured contempt. He seemed to Clavering about as guileless and innocent as a boarding–school miss or a college sophomore; and yet he had commanded three thousand fighting men, during four fierce years of a bloody war, and had been relied upon by no less a man than Stonewall Jackson himself. All this Clavering knew, as he knew most of the contemporary history of his own country. “And that charming young lady,” he asked after a moment, “was your daughter?” “Yes, my only child and as good as she is beautiful. May I ask if Mrs. Clavering is alive? I remember her as a most worthy woman.” “Yes,” answered Clavering, shortly. “Now will you come with me to one of the up–town hotels and have a smoke and a drink? In the old days when I was a sutler and you were a captain, I should have known better than to ask you; but I never expected to remain a sutler always. I have made money in the West, and I have ambitions of various sorts. Some day you will hear of me.”