'I know that his face never wears an expression of manly truth--for truth isn't in him!' said Falconer. 'The fellow is a downright cad, I understand,' said Fotheringhame; 'he will go to the devil with the down-train, and never know how to put on the brakes. Why were you fool enough to play with a stranger?' 'And lose?' said Acharn, twisting his thick black moustache. 'By all accounts it would be a miracle if you won.' 'He has promised me my revenge to-morrow.' 'At what game was it you lost £500?' asked Fotheringhame. 'At roulette, piquet, and écarté; but most at écarté.' 'By Jove! I should think so,' said Falconer, remembering Hew's 'mild play.' 'Why didn't you look under the table?' he asked in a low voice. 'For what?' exclaimed Acharn, with surprise. 'The cards he was dropping unknown to you.' 'Good heavens, do you say so!' 'Why, the fellow's a regular leg!' said Fotheringhame; but Falconer contented himself by saying: 'Your promised revenge will never come. Next time he asks you to play, decline, and say you do so by my advice--_mine_--don't forget.' Acharn did so, and the fact did not increase Master Hew's goodwill to Falconer; but little indeed could the latter guess how the good old general had been led to view _him_. A favourite with the entire regiment he was known to be, even to the very school-children; thus it was with some surprise the commanding-officer, some days after, heard the remarks of the general at the club, made privately to himself, however. 'I have to thank you, Sir Piers,' said the lieutenant-colonel, 'for extending the hospitality of your house to one of the best of my officers.' 'Best--the smartest, perhaps you mean?' said Sir Piers, coldly. 'Smartest and best!' replied the lieutenant-colonel, emphatically. 'Sorry to hear it, sir; sorry to hear it. When we were cantonned at Jodpore----' 'Excuse me, Sir Piers; but I do not understand.' 'He is too fond of cards, sir--too fond of cards for my taste, sir.' 'I never saw a card in his hand!' persisted the other. 'Strange!' The lieutenant-colonel thought these remarks more than strange, too; but Sir Piers did not choose to inform him of Hew's malevolent reports, and plunged at once into sundry reminiscences of Jodpore and its Rajpoots. Mary would certainly be the queen of the forthcoming regimental ball, and Falconer was full of the most delightful anticipations concerning it. 'Leslie Fotheringhame will be there!' was the secret thought of Annabelle Erroll; 'how _are_ we to meet? As strangers? Would that I had not come to Edinburgh at all--and yet!' Yet--what? She scarcely knew. Mary was in full anticipation also of the ball--its joys and its brilliance, and nightly laid her head on the pillow to sleep and dream, if she could, of a region where all was romance, light and splendour, bands of music, festooned banners and brilliant uniforms, with one central figure--Cecil Falconer! CHAPTER XX. THE OLD STORY AGAIN.