The poor visitor stared round him dizzily, and sank into a chair, breathing hard. The colonel looked as a man only looks upon a poor relation, and buttoned up first one trouser pocket and then the other.
"I thought you were in Canada," said the colonel, at last. Mr. Digby had now got breath to speak, and he said meekly, "The climate would have killed my child, and it is two years since I returned."
"You ought to have found a very good place in England to make it worth your while to leave Canada."
"She could not have lived through another winter in Canada,—the doctor said so."
"Pooh," quoth the colonel.
Mr. Digby drew a long breath. "I would not come to you, Colonel Pompley, while you could think that I came as a beggar for myself."
The colonel's brow relaxed. "A very honourable sentiment, Mr. Digby."
"No: I have gone through a great deal; but you see, Colonel," added the poor relation, with a faint smile, "the campaign is well-nigh over, and peace is at hand."
The colonel seemed touched.
"Don't talk so, Digby,—I don't like it. You are younger than I am— nothing more disagreeable than these gloomy views of things. You have got enough to live upon, you say,—at least so I understand you. I am very glad to hear it; and, indeed, I could not assist you—so many claims on me. So it is all very well, Digby."