"'Day," he said in his sharp, military way. "I'll join you here, if you have no objections."
"Delighted, Colonel," replied Vernon, and passed along the menu. He wondered why Towton was making such a palpable advance towards friendship, for, as a rule, he was somewhat stiff, with a reserved manner, after the way of army men.
The Colonel seemed to be in no hurry to explain, but fixed his eyeglass to examine the card, and order his luncheon. He was a tall, slim, dry-looking man, perfectly groomed and perfectly dressed and perfectly master of himself. In spite of his forty-five years, his close-cropped hair and smartly-twisted moustache were without a grey hair. Dark and knightly-looking, with alert eyes of Irish blue, he looked as juvenile as any of his subalterns. He was one of those men who ripen young, so to speak, and who remain in that condition for the rest of their lives. Towton was an admirable soldier, with several letters after his name, and it was a pity---as everyone said--that he had retired so early from the army. He should certainly have remained in order to attain to the rank of a general. But it was generally known that family reasons connected with the inheritance of a Yorkshire estate had necessitated the Colonel sending in his papers. Outside his profession he was not talented, but had a considerable fund of common sense, which is a rarer commodity than people imagine.
"I want to have a private talk with you, Vernon," said the Colonel, after he had selected his dish. "Luckily there's no one within earshot." He glanced round the room to note that he and his companion were isolated in a secluded corner. "You don't mind my having a private talk, do you?" he jerked, staring through his eyeglass and twisting his moustache.
"I am at your service," said Vernon, wondering what was coming.
"I am going to be rather personal, both as regards your affairs and my own," went on Towton very directly and honestly. "Rather odd in a man who is a mere acquaintance, eh?"
"Not at all," said Vernon politely; "I can only repeat that I am at your service, Colonel."
"Fact is, I wouldn't say a word, but that I know you're a good sort; plenty of chaps say that. And again," Towton unfolded his napkin rather nervously, for him, "you are a great friend of the Dimsdales."
"Yes, I am," acknowledged Vernon, guessing somewhat of the business which had brought the Colonel to his table.
"And a friend of young Maunders."