“Take that, and that, you wicked story-teller!” cried Clotilde, slapping her arms; “I know you think more about men than either of us. For my part, the man I mean to have will—”
She stopped, for Marie laid her hand upon her lips, and they both began to prepare themselves for their walk as the grave-looking woman entered the room.
“Oh, you’re not ready, then?” she said grimly.
“No, nurse; but we shall be directly.”
“No, you needn’t; you’re not going.”
“Not going, nurse? Why?”
“The new Lancer regiment is coming to the barracks this morning, and your aunts say some of the officers may be about.”