He gave her the address with profound gravity, and an implicit reliance on her secrecy.
"A hill-farmer in Roscommon!" she exclaimed. "I know the man. His name is Denis; I saw him at Punchestown."
"You know everything," he said, in a tone of admiration. "It must be very jolly to be clever, and that."
"It's much jollier to be 'rich and that,'" was her answer. "Money is what we all seem to want—especially poor Daisy. Now, how much do you suppose it would take to set him straight?"
He was not the man to trust any one by halves. "Three thousand," he declared, frankly: "and where he is to get it beats me altogether. Of course he can't hide for ever. After a time he must come back to do duty; then there'll be a show up, and he'll have to leave the regiment."
"And you will get your troop," said Mrs. Lushington. "You see I know all about that too."
His own promotion, however, as has been said, afforded this kind-hearted young gentleman no sort of consolation.
"I hope it won't come to that," was his comment on the military knowledge of his hostess. "I've great faith in luck. When things are at their worst they mend. Never say die till you're dead, Mrs. Lushington. Take your 'crowners' good-humouredly. Stick to your horse; and don't let go of the bridle!"
"You've been here more than your three-quarters of an hour," said Mrs. Lushington, "and you're beginning to talk slang, so you'd better depart. But you're improving, I think, and you may come again. Let me see, the day after to-morrow, if the Colonel don't object, and if you can find another handkerchief with a deeper shade of blue."
So Bill took his leave, and proceeded to "The Rag," where he meant to dine in company with other choice spirits, wondering whether it would ever be his lot to marry a woman like Mrs. Lushington—younger, of course, and perhaps, though he hardly ventured to tell himself so, with a little less chaff—doubting the while if he could consent so entirely to change his condition and his daily, or perhaps rather his nightly, habits of life. He need not give up the regiment, he reflected, and could keep Catamount, though the stud might have to be reduced. But what would become of Benjamin? Was it possible any lady would permit the badger to occupy a bottom drawer in her wardrobe? This seemed a difficult question. Pending its solution, perhaps he had better remain as he was!