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. A few days later, the two young men walked to Rosemount. It was a villa sort of house, set in a small garden, very carefully kept. The windows were ornamented with boxes of flowers. Small as the establishment was, there was an air of elegance about it, an elegance perhaps of restricted means but of refined taste. Pomfret nudged his senior officer. "I say, they've turned it into a very decent sort of little crib, haven't they? I should say that is due to the girl." Hugh laughed. "Perhaps it is the brother after all. He might be an artist, you know. Artists are often very rum-looking chaps." "Artist be hanged," said Pomfret emphatically. "I'll bet you a fiver he isn't an artist, whatever he is. A 'bookie' or a 'bookie's' tout, more likely." At the end of this short colloquy, they had reached the hall door. A very smart maidservant, in a becoming cap and apron, opened it. In answer to their inquiry, Miss Burton was in. They were shown into the drawing-room. The young mistress of the house was reclining in an easy-chair; an open book lay on her lap. She advanced towards them with that peculiar air of self-possession which had so impressed Hugh on his first meeting in the tea-shop. A hostess with years of social experience could not have been more at her ease than this young girl. "How nice of you to come, after that very vague invitation," she said, in her clear, silvery voice. She addressed Murchison first, and then turned swiftly to Pomfret, in whose eyes she doubtless recognised frank admiration of her peculiar attractiveness.