When the General heard the story, told more briefly than Winnie had related it, but with no loss to its essential features, he conceived a grudge against Mrs. Lenoir--Clara's silence, rendered more deceitful by that delusive half-confidence of hers, seemed to him unkind--but, as regards the prisoner at the bar herself, his judgment was even more lenient than his son's, as perhaps might be expected from his more various experience. The thing was annoying, distinctly annoying, but he liked Winnie none the less. The poor girl had been in a fix! "However it's really not our business to judge her," he concluded, looking across at his son. "We've got nothing to do with that. That's for her and her own conscience." "She's had devilish hard luck," said Bertie. "Yes, she has. Heavens, my boy, who am I to be hard on her?" The Major gazed out over the garden. "As far as I'm concerned myself, I'd take the chances and go on with it." He knew that his father would understand what he meant by 'it.' "Well, well, there are things to consider----" Bertie turned sharply round again. Conviction rang in his voice as he interrupted: "By Jove, there are! There's the regiment!" The General pursed up his lips and gave two quick little nods of his head. "Yes. In a few months you'll be in command." "It might not get out, of course. There's always that chance." "Next year you go to India. Everything gets out in India." "Of course, if people could be got to understand the case as we do----" "Don't you build on that, Bertie. The mere fact of this"--he tapped the _Times_--"will be all they want; take my word for it. They wouldn't make things comfortable for her." For the moment at least Bertie's mind was not on that point; it was directed towards the subject on which he had once discoursed to Winnie herself--the influence which the wife of a commanding officer does and ought to exercise on the tone of the small society over which she is naturally called upon to exercise a sort of presidency. "Would it be good for the regiment?" The General wore a mournful air as he took out and lit a long lean cheroot. He did not look at Bertie, as he murmured, "Must consider that, in your position."