“Except Lady Eaton,” said Mrs Otway dryly.
“Oh! my mother, of course; but then she was not here to nurse me.”
“I’d have nursed you, Phil, if you had been brought into quarters.”
“Oh, I know that!” cried Eaton warmly; “but, you see, I was brought on here.”
“Where mamma is so tender to you, and mademoiselle sits gazing at you with her soft, dark eyes, thinking what a brave hero you are, how terribly ill, and falling head-over-ears more in love with you. Phil, Phil, it isn’t honest.”
“What isn’t honest?” he said fiercely. “No man could have resisted such a temptation.”
“What, to come here and break a gentle girl’s heart?”
“But I’m not breaking her heart,” said Eaton ruefully.
“I’ve written and told your mother how things stand.”
“You have?”