"Murgatroyd?" said the Colonel. "But this gallant fellow was the man who—By the way, let me introduce you. Private Smithlord, my daughter, Rosamund."
The two looked at each other face to face. The intuition and ready wit of the woman pierced the disguise which had baffled the soldier.
"Father," she cried, "it's not Smithlord, it's Lord Smith. George!"
"Rosamund!" cried George. We cannot keep the secret any longer from our readers; it was Lord Smith.
"Tut, tut, sir, what is this?" said the Colonel. "I turned you out of the Regiment three weeks ago. What the deuce," he said, for, like all military men, he was addicted to strong language—"what the deuce does this mean?"
"I was innocent, sir."
"Father, he was innocent."
"He was innocent," said a hollow voice from the next bed.
In amazement they all looked at the officer lying there.
"Rosamund," he cried, "am I so greatly changed?"