"The army!" replied Cosmo, really surprised; "enlisted--for what?--a fifer or triangle boy?" "No," replied Flora, curling her pretty nostril, while her eyes gleamed dangerously under their long thick lashes. "For what, on earth, has he gone then?" "A gentleman volunteer." "A valuable acquisition to His Majesty's service!" said Cosmo, laughing, and, greatly to Flora's annoyance, seeming to be really amused; "do you know, friend Flora, what a volunteer is?" "Not exactly, sir," said Flora, again looking down on her book of prints with a sigh of anger. "Shall I tell you?" "If you please." "We never had any in the Household Brigade--such fellows are usually to be found only with the line corps." "Ah--with corps that go abroad and really see service--I understand." "Miss Warrender, the Guards----" "Well, _what_ is a volunteer?" asked Flora, beating the carpet with a very pretty foot. "A volunteer is a poor devil who is too proud to enlist, and is too friendless to procure a commission; who has all a private's duty to do, and has to carry a musket, pack, and havresack, wherein are his ration-beef, biscuits, and often his blackball and shoebrushes; who mounts guard and salutes me when I pass him, and whom I may handcuff and send to the cells or guard-house when I please; who is not a regular member of the mess and may never be; who gets a shilling per diem with the chance of Chelsea, a wooden leg, or an arm with an iron hook if his limbs are smashed by a round shot; who is neither officer, non-commissioned officer, nor private--neither fish, flesh, nor good red-herring (to use a camp phrase). Oh, Flora, Flora Warrender, can you be such a romantic little goose as to feel an interest in such a fellow as I have described?" Mingling emotions, indignation at the Master's insulting bitterness, pity for Quentin, and pure anger at the annoyance to which she was subjected, made Flora's white bosom heave as she quietly turned her eyes, with a flashing expression however, upon the cat-like regards of the sneering questioner, and said,-- "Who are you, sir, that would thus question or dictate to me?" "Who am I?" he asked, while surveying her through his glass with amusement, perplexity, and something of sorrow in his tone. "Yes, sir--who are you?" "I am, I believe, Cosmo, Master of Rohallion, and Colonel to be, of a very fine regiment; so I can afford to smile at the pride and petulance of a moon-struck girl." "Oh, how unseemly this is! Whatever happens, let us part friends," said she politely, perhaps a little imploringly. "So be it," said he, kissing her hand as she retired.