“Bah! no: that idiot servant of mine?”
“Broke something, sir?”
“No!” roared the lieutenant; “I wish he had—his neck! Can I trust you, Smithson?”
Dick bowed.
“Yes; one can confide in you, Smithson. You remember—er—er—a little adventure of ours—the serenade?”
“Oh, yes, sir!”
“I hardly care to refer to it, Smithson; but, as I think I said before, I always feel as if I can trust you.”
Dick bowed again, and felt disposed to laugh; but his face was extra-serious as the lieutenant went on—
“The fact is, we made a great mistake, Smithson, and that duet was played under the wrong window. There is an aunt there—and—and—she is not young.”
“I presumed so, sir, from the voice,” said Dick, for the young officer waited.