“No light,” said the colonel as he turned into his quarters. “Have you a match?”
“Yes, sir,” said the young officer rather gruffly, and the little silver box he took from his pocket tinkled softly as he searched for a match and struck it, the flash showing the colonel turning up the lamp wick.
“That’s right,” he said; “light it.”
A minute later the mean-looking hut, with its camp table, lamp, and stools, was lit up, and the colonel seated himself.
“I’ve very few words to say, Dickenson,” he said kindly, “but those are about your conduct to-night. You are young, hot-headed, and unwise.”
“Can’t help it, sir. My nature,” said the young man shortly.
“I suppose so. But of course you are aware that you have been guilty of a great breach of etiquette, and that your conduct cannot be passed over very lightly.”
“I suppose not, sir. I’m ready to take my punishment.”
“Yes,” said the colonel; and then, after a pause, “You seem to attach yourself more than ever to Mr Lennox since this affair.”
“Yes, sir; we are very old friends. I should not be his friend if I did not stick to him now he is under a cloud.”