Mr. Sturge pointed his toe and seemed about to execute the first steps of a hornpipe, but checked himself.
"Rough tongue, the Captain's?" he queried.
The Major swallowed a lump in his throat but did not answer.
"Hasty temper. Under the circumstances, we may make some little excuse, perhaps."
"I prefer not to discuss it. The man has insulted me."
"His bark is worse than his bite, I find," said Mr. Sturge complacently. "And, after all, the moment you chose was not precisely opportune—was it, now?"
"I am not used, sir, to have my word doubted by any man."
"Well, but—appearances considered—you pitched it pretty strong, eh? Local magnate, and that sort of thing… it did seem like taking advantage of his condition."
"Advantage? Appearances? What do you mean, sir?" The Major turned resentfully, and at the same instant recollected that he wore no wig. He blushed, His hand went up to his scalp.
"Makes a difference," said Mr. Sturge. "Allow me." He drew from the breast of his shirt a small pocket mirror. "I carry it always. Useful—tittivate myself—in the wings."