“For neither of them,” the niece spoke up, tartly.
“Now that’s hearty,” said her father, approvingly.
“I shall be glad to be quiet a bit, and rest from the journey,” Arabella declared. “I don’t need to be amused to-day.”
“Lord—Lord! I pray I may survive it,” her aunt plained.
Mrs. Annandale was so definitely disconsolate and indignant that the captain held a parley. Lieutenant Bolt, the fort-adjutant, was a man of good station, he said, and also a younger lieutenant and two ensigns; should he not bespeak their company for a game of Quadrille in his quarters this evening?
Truly “dear Brother” was too tediously dense. “A murrain on them all!” she exclaimed angrily. “What are they in comparison with young Mervyn?”
“As good men every way. Trained, tried, valuable officers—worth their weight in gold,” he retorted, aglow with esprit de corps.
She caught herself up sharply, fearing that she was too outspoken; and, realizing that “dear Brother” was an uncontrollable roadster when once he took the bit between his teeth, she qualified hastily. “An old woman loves gossip, Brother. What are these strangers to me? George Mervyn and I will put our heads together and canvass every scandal in the county for the last five years. Lord, he knows every stock and stone of the whole country-side, and all the folks, gentle and simple, from castle to cottage. I looked for some clavers such as old neighbors love.”
“Plenty of time—plenty of time,”—said the commandant. “George Mervyn will last till to-morrow morning.”
“To-morrow—is he in your clutches till to-morrow morning?” the schemer shrieked in dismay.