"Den, was that General Moore? I'm sure it is General Moore. I saw him once, you know—ever so long ago."
Rash indeed would any man have been to foretell the events which, beginning in the near future, were to shape the pathways of those three! Little dreamt Roy, in his boyish half-puzzled interest, that long years were to pass before ever again his eyes should rest upon that soldierly face and form. Little dreamt Ivor, glad in the thought of Moore's confidence, Moore's wish, that never, never again in this life, would he stand in the presence of the man who was to him more than the whole world beside—in a sense more than even Polly, passionately as he loved Polly.
His feeling for John Moore partook, indeed, rather of the nature of idolatry. The love of man for man is so distinct from the love of man for woman, that the one cannot be compared with the other, the one cannot interfere with the other. From very boyhood Denham had revered and worshipped Moore, with that reverent worship which can only be called out by the superlatively good and great and lovable. It had grown to be part of Denham's nature, part of his being. Polly was the one woman on earth for him. But Moore was the one man whom he longed to follow, to whom he looked up as to a superior being, with whom he craved to be, for whom he would joyously have died. No other affection could detract from this devotion.
Roy's remark was unnoticed, perhaps unheard. Ivor stood, gazing steadfastly, until his chief was out of sight. Those who knew and adored Moore—and they were many in number—could scarcely take their eyes and attention from him when he was within sight.
It is to be feared that Polly found small leisure thereafter for meditating on the childish woes of Molly, so full was her head of the brave young Grenadier Captain who had vowed to devote his life to her.
One fortnight of separation, and then she would have him again, and hers would be the ineffable delight of showing off her brave lover among Bath friends. How they would one and all envy Polly!
A touch of feminine vanity crept in here, though Polly's whole heart was given to Denham. But in his deeper love for her, there was no thought of what others might say. He would doubtless be proud of the fair young creature whom he had won; yet in his love no room remained for any such puerile element.
He stood much alone in the world as regarded kinship, having been left an orphan at an early age, under the guardianship of Colonel Baron, his father's cousin, and having no brothers, sisters, or other near relatives. The Barons' house had ever been a home to him; and while the Colonel was almost as his father, Mrs. Baron filled rather the position of an elder sister. To Roy and Molly, Denham was the most delightful of big elder brothers.
He had seen a good deal of both Polly and Jack in their childhood, but during later years he had been much on service abroad. His first view of Polly Keene, his quondam pet and playmate, transformed into a grown-up young lady, took place a few weeks before this date. Denham had lost his heart to her in the first hour of their renewed acquaintance; and Polly soon discovered that he was the one man in the world who had her happiness in his keeping.
Three or four days later, when good-byes were said, no voice whispered either to him or to Polly how long-drawn a separation lay ahead.