Spencer Coyle let her go; there was something in her tone that annoyed and even a little shocked him. There had evidently been a violent passage between these young people, and the reflection that such a matter was after all none of his business only made him more sore. It was indeed a military house, and she was at any rate a person who placed her ideal of manhood (young persons doubtless always had their ideals of manhood) in the type of the belted warrior. It was a taste like another; but, even a quarter of an hour later, finding himself near young Lechmere, in whom this type was embodied, Spencer Coyle was still so ruffled that he addressed the innocent lad with a certain magisterial dryness. "You're not to sit up late, you know. That's not what I brought you down for." The dinner-guests were taking leave and the bedroom candles twinkled in a monitory row. Young Lechmere however was too agreeably agitated to be accessible to a snub: he had a happy preoccupation which almost engendered a grin. "I'm only too eager for bedtime. Do you know there's an awfully jolly room?" "Surely they haven't put you there?" "No indeed: no one has passed a night in it for ages. But that's exactly what I want to do--it would be tremendous fun." "And have you been trying to get Miss Julian's permission?" "Oh, _she_ can't give leave, she says. But she believes in it, and she maintains that no man dare." "No man _shall_! A man in your critical position in particular must have a quiet night," said Spencer Coyle. Young Lechmere gave a disappointed but reasonable sigh. "Oh, all right. But mayn't I sit up for a little go at Wingrave? I haven't had any yet." Mr. Coyle looked at his watch. "You may smoke _one_ cigarette."