"I've got to be his best man," returned Bill, by no means triumphantly. "You'll coach me up a little, won't you, before the day? I haven't an idea what to do."
She laughed merrily.
"Make love to the bridesmaids, of course," she answered. "Irish, no doubt, every one of them. I'm not quite sure I shall give you leave."
"I can't get out of it!" exclaimed Bill. "He's such a 'pal,' you know, and a brother-officer, and all."
She was amused at his simplicity.
"I don't want you to get out of it," she answered, still laughing. "I can't tell you what sort of a best man you'll make, but you're not half a bad boy. You deserve something for coming to-day. Dine with us to-morrow—nobody but the Gordon girls and a stray man. I must go and see the great lady off. That's the worst of royalty. Good-bye," and she sailed away, leaving Bill somewhat disconcerted by misgivings that he had been guilty of a breach of trust.
The party was thinning visibly upstairs, while people transferred themselves with one accord to the hall and staircase, many appearing to consider this the pleasantest part of the entertainment. Mrs. Lushington had scarcely yet found time to speak three words to Blanche Douglas, but she caught her dear friend now, on the eve of departure, and held her fast. The General had gone to look for his lady-love's carriage. They were alone in Mr. Lushington's snuggery, converted (though not innocent of tobacco-smoke) into a cloak-room for the occasion.
"So good of you to come, dear Blanche, and to bring him," (with a meaning smile). "I waited to pounce on you here. I've got such a piece of news for you!"
Miss Douglas looked as if nothing above, upon, or under the earth could afford her the slightest interest, but she was obliged to profess a polite curiosity.