"There's the brother," repeated Mr Pomfret, "and a dashed disappointing sort of a brother, too. If it had only been a mother, or a maiden aunt! What a priceless opportunity! And yet it seems a bit too good to be lost." "But the brother, what about him?" Hugh insisted. "The brother is, of course, a stumbling-block. You can't ask him to Mess. `Old Fireworks' will stand more from you than anybody, but he would never stand Burton. He would be calling him `Your Grace' or `Your Worship' or something." "Old Fireworks," it may be explained, was the nickname of the respected Colonel of the gallant Twenty-fifth Lancers. It had been conferred upon him, on account of his explosive temper. He was also a rigid disciplinarian. "I shall not go," said Hugh after a brief pause. Mr Pomfret was thinking deeply. He pulled at his big cigar in a meditative fashion. Then at length, out of his wisdom, he spoke: "Let us reason this out, my well-beloved friend. A very pretty girl asks you to go and see her, she is unfortunately hampered by an undesirable brother. You accept their hospitality, but you know he is not a man you can ask to Mess. But you can take him to an hotel, and feed him up there. Tell him the Colonel's kicked up rough about guests, any lie you like, to save his _amour propre_." "A good idea, Jack. Have you anything more to say? Don't forget that if I go to Rosemount, the news will be all over Blankfield in five minutes." Mr Pomfret snapped his fingers. "Who cares a fig for the Blankfield people? Everybody knows, or ought to know, that a soldier loves and rides away. And the Blankfield girls are dull enough, Heaven knows, I wouldn't give a thought to them." "Then you advise me to call, and be introduced to the brother, eh?" "Of course. We shall be off in another two months, and leave only tender memories behind us." Mr Pomfret was a practical person, if ever there was one. "Let us seize the passing day. By the way, have you any objection to taking me up to call with you, when you go? Say no, if you have the slightest objection." Hugh Murchison looked at him squarely. "No, old chap, not the slightest. The girl interests me in a way, chiefly, I think, because I can't quite make her out, can't determine whether she is very cunning or very simple, but I am not attracted in the ordinary sense. I take it you are." Pomfret's look of indifference changed to one of gravity. "Yes, Hughie, I am. I would like to see that girl at close quarters." Hugh rose. "Right. We will call together, and in the meantime we will keep it from the other fellows?" "Good Heavens, I should think so. We should be chaffed to death," was Jack's fervent answer.