"Ah, and what did he say?" asked the colonel, knocking the ashes from his cigar with a jewelled finger. "If you lived till the age of Methusaleh, Colonel Beverley, you would never guess." "Well?" "Putting his glass in his eye, he lisped out coolly, ’Bah! people don’t fight duels now. In our service at least, since Munro’s fatal affair with Fawcett,[*] hostile meetings have been hanging matters.’" [*] The disastrous and reckless duel referred to—the last, I think, fought in our service—occurred in 1844, between the husbands of two sisters, in a quarrel about monetary matters—Lieutenant-Colonel David L. Fawcett, C.B., of the 55th Regiment, and Lieutenant and Adjutant Alexander T. Monro, of the Royal Horse Guards. The former was killed, and the latter, after suffering a short imprisonment, was restored to the service, but not to his regiment. The circumstances must be fresh in the memory of some of my readers. "The greater pity, say I," continued Beverley. "And he actually replied to you thus?" said Studhome. "These were his words, or nearly so." Beverley’s brow knit, and a contemptuous smile curled his proud lip. "Such cool impudence is delicious," said he, laughing. "But the matter cannot end thus!" I exclaimed, impetuously. "Of course not, my dear fellow—of course not. Yet if the affair comes before the mess or the public, how are we to keep the name of Lady Loftus out of it? Though he might relish the éclât of having his trumpery cognomen jingled with that of Lord Chillingham’s daughter, and with yours, it is a very different matter for Lady Louisa. We must be cautious and circumspect, or we shall land you between the horns of a dilemma. Women make men’s quarrels infernally complicated." "I shall gladly avail myself of your advice, colonel, and Studhome shall act as my friend." Jack summoned his servant by a rapid process peculiar to barracks, and despatched him to the main guard to inquire whether Mr. Berkeley had passed in. The answer came promptly that he was in his quarters. "How long has he been there?" "About half an hour, sir." "Egad, Norcliff, you have come by the same train from Canterbury," said the colonel, after the servant had withdrawn. "How if you had been in the same compartment?" "I might have been tempted to throw him out of the window." "Studhome, see Berkeley, and arrange this matter; but remember the honour of the regiment," said the colonel, "as well as that of your friend, for at all risks and hazards I will have no public scandal about us—no handle given to the wretched whipsters of the newspaper press, when we are on the eve of departure for the seat of war." "Trust me, colonel," said Jack, as he lit a fresh cigar, donned his gold-laced forage cap very much over the right ear, took up his riding-whip from force of habit, and hurried away.