I started up from my seat, but a hand was laid upon my arm, and I was pressed down as I swung my head round and gazed up in Brace’s stern face.
“Be quiet,” he said, grimly; and then—“May I ask, Mr Barton, what this means?”
“No, you may not,” cried Barton, offensively.
“But I do ask, sir. I heard you threaten to horse-whip your junior officer as I entered the room.”
“And most creditable for an officer and a gentleman to stand at the door listening,” cried Barton, in a mocking tone. “Eavesdropping.”
Brace’s pale sallow face changed colour, but he spoke very calmly, for he realised that Barton had made up his mind to quarrel with him.
“What has been the matter, Vincent?”
“Mr Barton has thought proper to accuse my friends of gross favouritism, and he tells me that I have no business in the horse brigade.”
“Lieutenant Barton is not the judge of what officers are suitable for our troop; and you may take it for granted that if you had not proved yourself worthy of the selection made, you would very soon have been transferred back.”
“Don’t you believe it, Vincent,” cried Barton, whose face was flushed, and whose manner indicated that he had been drinking overnight, with the consequence that he was irritable and bitter with every one about him. “The whole service is being neglected, or else there would very soon be a weeding out in this troop.”