The old General was alone able to cap stories with Maitland on this theme, and told with some gusto an incident of his first experiences at Lisbon. “We had,” said he, “a young attaché to our Legation there; I am talking of, I regret to say, almost fifty years ago. He was a very good-looking young fellow, quite fresh from England, and not very long, I believe, from Eton. In passing through the crowd of the ball-room, a long streamer of lace which one of the Princesses wore in her hair caught in the attache's epaulette. He tried in vain to extricate himself, but, fearing to tear the lace, he was obliged to follow the Infanta about, his confusion making his efforts only the more hopeless. 'Where are you going, sir? What do you mean by this persistence?' asked a sour-faced old lady-of-honor, as she perceived him still after them. 'I am attached to her Royal Highness,' said he, in broken French, 'and I cannot tear myself away.' The Infanta turned and stared at him, and then instantly burst out a-laughing, but so good-humoredly withal, and with such an evident forgiveness, that the duenna became alarmed, reported the incident to the Queen, and the next morning our young countryman got his orders to leave Lisbon at once.” While the company commented on the incident, the old General sighed sorrowfully,--over the long past, perhaps,--and then said, “He did not always get out of his entanglements so easily.” “You knew him, then?” asked some one. “Slightly; but I served for many years with his brother, Wat Butler, as good a soldier as ever wore the cloth.” “Are you aware that his widow and son are in this neighborhood?” asked Mrs. Trafford. “No; but it would give me great pleasure to see them. Wat and I were in the same regiment in India. I commanded the company when he joined us. And how did he leave them?” “On short rations,” broke in old Graham. “Indeed, if It was n't for Lyle Abbey, I suspect very hard up at times.” “Nothing of the kind, Commodore,” broke in Mrs. Trafford. “You have been quite misinformed. Mrs. Butler is, without affluence, perfectly independent; and more so even in spirit than in fortune.” A very significant smile from Maitland seemed to say that he recognized and enjoyed her generous advocacy of her friend. “Perhaps you could do something, General, for his son?” cried Mrs. Maxwell. “What sort of a lad is he?” “Don't ask me, for I don't like him; and don't ask my sisters, for they like him too well,” said Mark. “Have you met him, Mr. Maitland?” asked the General. “Yes, but passingly. I was struck, however, by his good looks and manly bearing. The country rings with stories of his courage and intrepidity.” “And they are all true,” said Isabella Lyle. “He is the best and bravest creature breathing.” “There's praise,--that's what I call real praise,” said the General. “I'll certainly go over and see him after that.”