Raymond nodded a silent assent. The others exchanged glances of surprised comment, and made no rejoinder.
“In his report as officer of the day,” said Raymond at length, “he includes this detail among his remarks on my report as officer of the guard.”
“Zounds! The commandant can’t take a serious view of a bit of horse-play behind an officer’s back,” said Lieutenant Jerrold. He fell to meditating on Mervyn’s priggish arrogations of gentlemanly perfection, and he rather wondered that he should place himself in the position of a persecutive martinet. The incident was not without its peculiar relish to Lieutenant Jerrold. Not that he wished aught of ill to Ensign Raymond, but he secretly resented, naturally enough, that he had not been selected instead, as a guest for the dinner of welcome to the captain’s daughter. Mervyn’s invitation was, of course, a foregone conclusion—in the double capacity of old friend and close neighbor. But it seemed to Jerrold that since a make-weight was needed, he, himself, was heavier metal than Raymond. He felt, in a measure, passed over, excluded, and the subsequent invitation with the other officers to play a game of Quadrille hardly made amends, for he claimed some superior distinction in point of age, in service, in rank, in personality. He might have been flattered and his wounded self-love assuaged if he had known that it was for these identical reasons he had been passed over. Mrs. Annandale had schemed to avoid any interference with Mervyn’s opportunity to impress the young lady and to be impressed in turn. She had waived away Jerrold’s name when she had declared that it would be too personal and particular to invite Mervyn alone, although as old friend and neighbor she cared only for him,—but since he was a man of wealth and gilded expectations, she would not like the officers of the garrison to think she was throwing precious Arabella at his head. “Doited dear Brother” took instant alarm at this, and proposed the next in rank—Lieutenant Jerrold. But she objected to so considerable a man. She had by no means the intention of furnishing Captain-Lieutenant Mervyn with a rival, after she had come all the way from England to ensnare him for her niece.
“Save us!” she had exclaimed. “We don’t want two lieutenants! Send for some simple little ensign, man; just to balance the table.”
Her heart had sunk into her shoes when she beheld the face and figure of the make-weight that Captain Howard, all unconscious of her deep and subtle schemes, had provided. This Raymond—to balance the table! But for her own careful exploitation of the evening the dashing ensign would have unwittingly destroyed every prospect that had lured her on so long and grievous a journey. She had enough rancor against the unconscious and dangerous marplot to enable her to receive with great relish the tidings that he was in disfavor with the commandant, for the cause, always most reprehensible in a soldier, wilful neglect of duty.
“Don’t talk to me! There is no excuse for that sort of thing,” she said, virulently, for Captain Howard was showing great concern for the incident, and was of the opinion, evidently, that Mervyn might well have let the matter rest. “I am not a soldier, dear Brother, and know nothing of tactical details. But reason argues that guard-duty is one of the dearest trusts of a soldier, and will bear no trifling.”
“True, true, indeed,” assented Captain Howard.
“While that rapscallion was playing Killie-crankie on the heads of those numskulls, the sentry at the gate might have shouted for the guard in vain. The gate might have been rushed by an enemy—”
“There was a sentry at the guard-room door who would have heard; it is his business to notify the guard,” Captain Howard interpolated, but without effect. Mrs. Annandale went on as if he had not spoken.
“—and though the officer in charge was within his duty in visiting distant and exposed sentinels, he should have reported the disturbance occurring during his absence. No!—no—! Don’t talk to me!”