“All the superior young women seemed to turn nurserymaids,” said the Colonel.
“Oh,” interposed Fanny, “do you remember that nice girl of ours who would marry that Orderly-Sergeant O’Donoghoe? I have had a letter from her in such distress.”
“Of course, the natural termination,” said Alick, in his lazy voice.
“And I thought you would tell me how to manage sending her some help,” proceeded Fanny.
“I could have helped you, Fanny. Won’t an order do it?”
“Not quite,” said Fanny, a shade of a smile playing on her lip. “It is whether to send it through one of the officers or not. If Captain Lee is with the regiment, I know he would take care of it for her.”
So they plunged into another regiment, and Rachel decided that nothing was so wearisome as to hear triflers talk shop.
There was no opportunity of calling Fanny to order after dinner, for she went off on her progress to all the seven cribs, and was only just returning from them when the gentlemen came in, and then she made room for the younger beside her on the sofa, saying, “Now, Alick, I do so want to hear about poor, dear little Bessie;” and they began so low and confidentially, that Rachel wondered if her alarms wore to be transfered from the bearded colonel to the dapper boy, or if, in very truth, she must deem poor Fanny a general coquette. Besides, a man must be contemptible who wore gloves at so small a party, when she did not.
She had been whiling away the time of Fanny’s absence by looking over the books on the table, and she did not regard the present company sufficiently to desist on their account. Colonel Keith began to turn over some numbers of the “Traveller” that lay near him, and presently looked up, and said, “Do you know who is the writer of this?”
“What is it? Ah! one of the Invalid’s essays. They strike every one; but I fancy the authorship is a great secret.”