“Your wife!” he echoed in a low voice. And he faced Lauriston with a searching look, which the young lieutenant met steadily.
They stood like this for some moments, each finding it hard to control his seething anger. The Colonel, as became the elder man and commanding officer, recovered himself first, and told George curtly that, as parade was over, he had better rejoin his wife and lead her off the ground. This suggestion the young man was glad enough to take, and he saluted and rode off without a word, still in a state of hot indignation. The sight of Massey and Dicky Wood standing beside his wife, evidently both doing their best to make themselves agreeable to her, and succeeding to all appearances very well, did not tend to soothe him, and on reaching the spot where they stood, he swung himself off his charger in a most unamiable mood. He had self-command enough left not to reproach her in the presence of his comrades, but the tone in which he said, without taking any notice of them, “Come up to my rooms, Nouna,” and the young wife’s sudden pallor at his words caused the two young fellows to exchange significant looks, which both Lauriston and his wife unluckily saw, expressive of fear that the poor little lady was going to have “a bad time of it.”
At the door of the officers’ quarters they came upon the Colonel, who was looking as uncompromisingly fierce as ever. He examined Nouna from head to foot with a straightforward aggressive scrutiny which made George’s blood boil, while his wife, for her part, stopped short to return his stare with equally simple directness.
“George, who is he?” she asked suddenly in a low eager voice, turning to her husband as he put his arm brusquely within hers to lead her past.
“Lord Florencecourt, the Colonel,” he whispered back, in an important tone, hoping that the officer’s position would impress her sufficiently for her to awake to her want of respect.
But before George could see what effect his words might have, the Colonel himself, who was looking very haggard and grizzly this morning, an object grim enough to arrest any woman’s attention, broke into the whispered conversation with brusque coldness. He had not lost a word of the rapid question and answer, and a slight change passed over his ashen gray face as if the blood were flowing more freely again, as he noted the unconcern with which the lady heard the announcement of his name.
“Pray introduce me to your wife, Lauriston,” he said in such a hard voice that the request became an abrupt command, without taking his eyes from her face for one second. “Perhaps, indeed, we have met before. Mrs. Lauriston seems to know me. In that case I hope she will pardon my short memory.”
“No, I haven’t met you,” said Mrs. Lauriston hastily, looking at him with open aversion and turning to take her husband’s arm as if she considered the hardly-formed acquaintance already too long.
“Then my memory is better than yours, I am sure,” said he, with a ghastly attempt to assume his usual society manner. “What was Mrs. Lauriston’s maiden name?” he asked, turning to the young lieutenant.
“Miss Weston, Nouna Weston,” answered George, with growing curiosity and interest.