"Neither of whom, Mab, are particular to a shade. I should not wonder, Audley, if your 'captain' were some returned convict or retired housebreaker in easy circumstances." "Rose, you are too severe," urged Trevelyan; "Mrs. Devereaux is a kind of idol among the poor people here." "We must all admit that she excels in chicken broth, is knowing in coals and tea, and great in corduroys, tobacco, and blankets; but fasten my bracelet, please," and she held forth coquettishly a slender wrist and a well-shaped hand, tightly cased in the finest of straw-coloured kid; and every movement of Rose Trecarrel, however quick and unstudied, was full of the poetry of action. "Thanks. If you will not admit that the mother of your fair friend is odd, you must that her father is so--or at least is ignorant of military etiquette, if he is a military man." "How?" "He has never left his card upon papa, which, in a solitary place like this, papa thinks he ought to have done, as it is the fashion in the service--going out I am aware--for the junior officer to wait upon the senior, though uninvited." "Though a bore at times, it was a good old custom, I admit, but like many other fashions is as much gone out as square letter-paper, sand-boxes and sealing wax, stage coaches and queues." "Then his son," she continued in an aggrieved tone, "on being appointed to papa's own Regiment, never had the politeness to leave a card upon us either!" "Rose, you are quite a _Code Militaire_," said Trevelyan, laughing again. "Those Devereaux are thought handsome--I mean the mother and daughter." "I have no wish to disparage the taste of the Cornish gentlemen----" "None could afford to treat their taste with more indifference than you and Miss Trecarrel, who are both----" "Both what?" asked Mabel, quickly. "Above all comparison." "Oh, we did not leave all our gallantry in the old coal-mine!" "Excuse me, Rose," said Trevelyan, "it was originally a tin-mine." "Pity it was not brass--eh, Audley?" replied Rose, laughing with a voice like a silver bell. "Come, come, Rose," said Mabel, "you and Trevelyan are usually such good friends that I shall not have you to spar thus." "We don't spar, it is only 'barrack-room chaff,' in which, as you may perceive, Mr. Trevelyan excels," retorted the piqued belle.