It was with a shy feeling and rather a sinking heart that Herbert presented himself at Line Wall House, the residence of the major-general commanding; but he found himself among friends even on the threshold. An orderly sergeant, one of the Duke’s Own, of course, and a former comrade, took his coat and forage cap; and the servant who ushered him into the drawing-room was also an old soldier of the regiment disguised in livery, who seemed to be the herald of a triumphal procession as he threw wide the doors and with stentorian lungs announced
‘Misther Larkins!’
The friendliness was not, however, confined to the attendants. The general’s manner was most frank and kindly as he came forward and shook hands. Mrs. Prioleau, a well-meaning, but very languid washed-out personage, also greeted him quite warmly, for her: while Edith received him with such bright eyes and heightened colour, conveying thanks and welcome all in one, that, for the moment, he felt quite overcome.
It was a small party of eight, carefully chosen, probably with the idea of making Herbert thoroughly at home. Another subaltern like himself, but newly married, with a pretty girlish cipher of a wife, and a staff-surgeon, who proved to be Herbert’s Ashanti friend, M‘Cosh. The general’s aide-de-camp, Captain Mountcharles, a relation of the family, made up the number.
Edith fell to Herbert on going in to dinner. On her other side at the table was the aide-de-camp, who, according to custom, took the bottom, the general being at the other end, and Mrs. Prioleau in the centre on the right.
The talk at dinner was not particularly lively at first. Mrs. Prioleau never contributed much; the general was really a little shy himself, especially with people whom he did not know intimately; Edith was rather silent, and the rest of the company seemingly abashed, all but one. The exception was Captain Mountcharles, whose duty it was, no less than his inclination, to make himself agreeable, and he acquitted himself very well of his task.
He was a very self-satisfied young gentleman, rather disposed to be overdressed and with a somewhat supercilious air. The first showed itself in the splendour of his shirt-front, with its single stud as large as a cheese-plate, in his enormous shirt cuffs, which he ‘shot out’ with a little concerted cough just before he made a new remark, in the breadth of his black satin tie, and in the size of his watch chain, which had it been long enough would have made a cable for a seventy-four. The latter was to be seen in his drawling accents and his tendency to depreciate everybody and everything.
Herbert hated him almost instinctively from the first, but his dislike was deepened by his seeming familiarity with Edith, whom he called by her Christian name. She was his cousin, so it was all right enough, but it jarred on Herbert all the same.
‘Very poor sport to-day,’ said the aide-de-camp to the general, ‘you did not miss much, sir. You weren’t out, M‘Cosh? Were you, Mr. Larkins—?’ punctiliously polite to Herbert, as to an inferior; another reason for hatred. ‘How anyone can hunt here after the shires!’