“No, decidedly not; and yet how all the fellows like him, from the latest youngster from home upwards; although he is down upon the boys at times, and has the art of being more politely and unpleasantly sarcastic than anyone I know. One would think he was forty to hear him talk, he is so circumspect and staid; and he can’t be more than six or seven and twenty at the very outside. The youngsters respect him as if he was the Commander-in-Chief himself; and the remarks at his end of the table are never so free as elsewhere. There must be some reason for his premature gravity. There’s a woman in the case, depend upon it,” said Captain Campbell, tossing away the end of his cigar with an emphatic gesture. “_Cherchez la femme_, say I.” “I should not wonder. Probably he has been crossed in love--jilted perhaps,” suggested Mr. Harvey. “She must be uncommonly hard to please, whoever she is, for he is one of the best-looking fellows you could see--well-born and rich.” Captain Campbell paused for a moment to reflect on these advantages, and then continued: “It is a curious thing that he never mentions a woman’s name, and is altogether very close about himself and his family. Do you remark that he takes tremendously long solitary rides, and gives his horses the most work of any man in the station, for he gallops often, he gallops far, and he gallops fast.” “He never seems to care to ride with anyone, don’t you know.” (Mr. Harvey put in “don’t you know,” on an average, every three words.) “I offered my agreeable society at various times, but he always put me off in that quiet way of his, don’t you know; so I thought: ‘My dear fellow, _saint_ as we think you, you have some little game up, and I’ll see what it is, don’t you know.’” “That will do, my dear fellow; that’s the eleventh ‘don’t you know.’ Stick to Fairfax,” exclaimed his companion impatiently.