His disposition is certainly sweeter than Lilian's,—bad temper of any sort being quite unknown to him; whereas Miss Chesney possesses a will of her own, and a very quick temper indeed. He is bright, sunny, lovable in disposition, and almost "without guile." So irresistible is he that even Miss Beauchamp smiles upon him, and is singularly gracious to him, considering he is not only a youngster but—far worse—a detrimental.
He has one very principal charm. Unlike all the youthful soldiers it has been my misfortune to meet, he does not spend his days wearying his friends with a vivid description of his rooms, his daily duties when on parade, his colonel, and his brother officers. For this grace alone his familiars should love him and be grateful to him.
Nevertheless, he is so far human that, the evening after his arrival, he whispers to Lilian how he has brought his uniform with him, for her inspection only. Whereupon Lilian, delighted, desires him to go up that instant and put it on, that she may pass judgment upon him without delay. No, she will not wait another second; she cannot know peace or happiness until she beholds him in all his grandeur.
After a faint demur, and the suggestion that as it is late he could scarcely get it on and have time afterward to dress for dinner, he gives in, and, binding her to secrecy, runs up-stairs, having named a certain time for her to follow him.
Half an hour later, Miss Beauchamp, sweeping slowly along the corridor up-stairs, hears the sound of merriment coming from young Musgrave's room, and stops short.
Is that Lilian's voice? surely it is; and in her cousin's room! The door is almost closed,—not quite; and, overcome by curiosity, she lays her hand against it, and, pushing it gently open, glances in.
Before the dressing-table, clothed in military garments of the most recherché description, is Taffy, while opposite to him, full of open admiration, stands Miss Chesney. Taffy is struggling with some part of his dress that declines to fall into a right position, and Lilian is flouting him merrily for the evident inexperience he betrays.
Florence, astonished—nay, electrified—by this scene, stands motionless. A young woman in a young man's bedroom! Oh, shocking! To her carefully educated mind, the whole thing borders on the improper, while to have it occur in such a well-regulated household as Chetwoode fills her with genuine horror.
So struck is she by the criminality of it all that she might have stayed there until now, but that a well-known step coming up the stairs warns her that eavesdropping is not the most honorable position to be caught in. She moves away, and presently finds herself face to face with Guy. He is coming lazily along the corridor, but stops as he sees her.
"What is it, Florence? You look frightened," he says, half jestingly.