Vera contrived to have a hole bored in the shilling, and wore it with other charms on her favourite bangle. The enterprise of Dermot Hegan was disclosed by Sir Domnick, always well posted in local news—no item too insignificant.
“So I hear that young Hegan has enlisted,” he announced, “and is going out to India. Best thing he can do—wonder he never thought of it before. Just the class of chap to make his way in the service.”
Dermot Hegan remained in India for four years, and made his way. His steady character, good education, and notable horsemanship helped him to a commission. He and Vera had corresponded at long and fitful intervals. When he was promoted sergeant she sent him her photograph; when he was gazetted to a regiment at home she invited him, if in London, to come and see her.
Vera was now twenty-two, her own mistress, and, as her mother bewailed, “absolutely hopeless” with respect to a suitable marriage. Not one of her many admirers seemed to make any serious impression, and yet she was a bright, amusing, popular girl with many men friends. More than one experienced chaperone had whispered to Mrs. de Lisle that “there must be someone in the background!” but this suggestion she denied with passionate emphasis, saying:
“Vera has no heart, in one sense. I have never seen her really interested, and she has not been out of my sight since she left her nurse’s arms.”
Mr. Hegan, 50th Hussars, duly made his appearance in Charles Street, a remarkably well-set-up, smart-looking young officer, and Mrs. de Lisle—believing him to be one of Vera’s partners—accorded him a gracious welcome. Presently he and her daughter retired into the back drawing-room, ostensibly to look at some photographs, and here, in a few hurried sentences, he informed Vera that his father and step-mother were both dead, that a distant relative had left him a legacy, which had enabled him to pay off some debts, and to repair the roof of Heganstown.
“I have an honest steward,” he added, “and I get enough money out of the place to pay my tailor, and mess bill. I’ve done all right so far—and been uncommonly lucky, thanks to you.”
“No thanks to me—thanks to this,” and she exhibited her bangle, and the dangling King’s shilling.
“I say, you can’t think the help your letters were,” he went on. “Somehow they seemed to keep me afloat; is it not funny that, until now, we have never seen one another by daylight?”
“Yes,” she assented; “but all the same,” and she coloured deeply, “it is not considered good manners to stare!”