"No. Heiresses are not to be found under every hedge." "In Scotland, especially." "I have considered the matter maturely, my dear friend," said Monkton, in his bantering tone, "and have come to the sage conclusion that, if a man marries, with his pay only, he had better hang; if otherwise, and his wife have a long purse, and expectations, to enhance the charms of her blushes and orange-buds, let him send in his papers, and quit; so the service loses your Benedict any way." "Purse, or no purse," said Colville, "as Paragon says in the comedy we acted at York, 'when you see my wife, you shall see perfection, though I never met the woman I could conscientiously throw myself away upon.'" "Pimple, we hear, has been romantically tender on a flax-spinner's daughter; and that the route came only in time to save him from the arms of Venus for those of Bellona, and he is burning now to forget his loved and lost one amid the smoke of battle," said Colville, with a tragic air. "Ah, there were great men even before old Agamemnon." "But Pimple shall show us by his glorious example, that we have at least one greater since." "Let me alone, Colville, and you also, Monkton," said Boyle, becoming seriously angry; "I hope to do my duty with the best among you." Attention was speedily drawn from the irritation of the little ensign by the entrance of Warriston, who apologized briefly for being late, having been detained on duty at the quarters of his own regiment; then drawing a chair near his friend Middleton, he handed to him the last number of the _London Gazette_, pointing to a paragraph therein, and leisurely filling his glass with claret, passed the decanters. When Middleton read the passage referred to, a crimson flush passed over his features, and he crushed up the paper as if an emotion, of rage and pain thrilled through him. "What is the matter, major?" asked half-a-dozen voices; "nothing unpleasant, I hope?" "The lieutenant-colonelcy has been given _out_ of the regiment," replied Middleton, with his brows knit, while his hand still crushed up the paper; then, as if remembering himself, he smiled, but very disdainfully. "He must have seen much service to be appointed over _your_ head," said Monkton. "Service--yes, the Guards fight many bloody battles about Hounslow, Hyde Park, and the Fifteen Acres," replied the justly exasperated field-officer. "Here is my advancement stopped by the promotion of a fellow who has some petticoat interest about Carlton House, whose cousin is groom of the backstairs, and who has been compelled to 'eschew sack and loose company,' so he comes from the Household Brigade to the Line, and may go from the 25th to the devil, perhaps." "Be wary, my good friend--be wary," said Warriston, glancing round the table hastily. "And _who_ is he?" asked several, full of curiosity. "The son of a general officer--the Master of Rohallion."