"Oh, if we'd had that in my time, we'd have done real wonders, miracles—sir, miracles!"
"Yes, and you had not a rifle warranted to kill at two miles, had you?" said Mallender.
"No, only good old brown Bess. And those motors and aeroplanes that I shall never see—no more than if I had lived in the Middle Ages!"
"You could easily see a motor, sir," replied his visitor, "but I'm not so sure of an aeroplane," and as he had made an ascent, he proceeded to relate his experience. To this, the old man listened with hands on knees, parted lips, and an air of almost passionate attention.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, as he leant back with a sigh of satisfaction, "at last I seem to understand the hang of the thing; you have put it before me, and I can almost imagine, that I'm sitting on a nasty cramped seat, rising steadily into the air, while all the world is falling away below me. Here is Mrs. Beamish coming to tell us that supper is waiting, and I've been keeping you. We are punctual folk—military time, sir! Come to-morrow, come to tiffin. Sally, my dear, this young fellow has done me no end of good; my mind is chock full of brand-new ideas." Then rising with tremulous difficulty, assisted by his wife, and a servant, the old veteran nodded his head, and tottered out of the verandah.
When Mallender was ushered into the dining-room, he was rather surprised to find the table almost surrounded, and supper already well started. Tom, who was apparently master of the ceremonies, jumped up and said, "Hello—here you are at last! the governor froze on to you. Captain Mallender, this is Tara, my youngest sister,"—the girl he had encountered in the cemetery—"and this is Jessie," indicating a thin plain young woman, with high cheek bones, and a bright pink blouse, actively engaged in carving a piece of cold beef. Jessie nodded, and beamed—she had her mother's smile. "Let me introduce Captain Beaufort," continued Tom waving his hand towards an enormously stout, bullet-headed man, with a massive red face, and heavy grey moustache. Captain Beaufort gave the visitor a martial look—rose, as it were at attention, shuffled his feet, and muttered a greeting.
"Miss Blanche and Miss Lily Beaufort," resumed Tom, glancing at two pretty tittering girls, with dusky complexions, elaborate white blouses, and coral necklaces and earrings.
"Now we are all acquainted, what will you have?" enquired Jessie. "Cold hump, curried fowl, or stuffed tomatoes?"
"Try the cold hump, Captain," urged Beaufort,—Beaufort was thoroughly, and aggressively, at home—"and this mango chutney is not to be sneezed at, I can tell you! and the beer is A1."
The board was spread with an ample repast, and decorated with vases of zinnias and marigolds. Miss Tara was officiating with an old French coffee-pot of the time of Louis XV., that would have brought tears of envy to the eyes of Fanny Tallboys. In fact, the appointments and surroundings were a curious and remarkable mixture; here, were rat-tailed spoons, Charles the First sugar bowls, superb candelabra, holding cheap candles (twelve to the pound), a coarse mission table-cloth, and bazaar crockery. The aristocratic side-board, and a book-case, were undoubtedly of the days of Count Lally, and seemed to shrivel up, and hold themselves aloof from the coarse "maistrey" furniture, and jail carpets,—their associates.