“You're finished now, Captain,” said Hosey, presenting him with a small cracked looking-glass. “That's what I call a neat chin and a beautiful sweep of whisker. Thank you, Captain. It's a pleasure and an honor—not to say that it's—”
Magennis did not wait for the peroration, but striding hastily out of the little shop, issued into the street that led to the inn. On arriving there, he heard that Mr. Rep-ton had gone out, leaving word that he would be found at Major Froode's quarters. Thither Magennis now repaired with all the solemn importance befitting his mission.
As he sent in his name, he could overhear the short colloquy that passed within, and perceived that Repton was about to retire; and now the servant ushered him into the presence of a smart, light-whiskered little man, with a pair of shrewd gray eyes, and a high forehead.
“A brother officer, I perceive, sir,” said he, looking at the card, whereupon the title Captain was inscribed; “pray take a chair.”
“You anticipate the reason of this visit, Major Froode,” said the other, with some degree of constraint, as though the preliminaries were the reverse of pleasant to him. The Major bowed, and Magennis went on: “I suppose, then, I'm to treat with you as the friend of Mr. Valentine Repton?”
“And you are Mr. Massingbred's?” said the Major, answering the question with another.
“I have that honor, sir,” said Magennis, pompously; “and now, sir, how soon can it come off?”
“Don't you imagine, Captain Magennis, that a little quiet discussion of the question at issue between two old soldiers, like you and myself, might possibly be advisable? Is there not a chance that our united experience might not suggest an amicable arrangement of this business?”
“Quite out of the question,—utterly, totally impossible!” said Magennis, sternly.
“Then perhaps I lie under some misconception,” said the Major, courteously.