“With relatives, yes.”
“Relatives of course. But when British officers travel with ladies, relatives or other, they prefer the simplicity of mufti, and so do I, as a question of taste, I must say.”
“It was quite by misadventure that M. de Croisnel chanced to come in his uniform.”
“Ah! I know you, for defending your friends, Captain Beauchamp. He was in too great a hurry to change his uniform before he started, or en route?”
“So it happened.”
Mrs. Grancey let a lingering eye dwell maliciously on Beauchamp, who said, to shift the burden of it: “The French are not so jealous of military uniforms as we are. M. de Croisnel lost his portmanteau.”
“Ah! lost it! Then of course he is excuseable, except to the naked eye. Dear me! you have had a bruise on yours. Was Monsieur votre ami in the Italian campaign?”
“No, poor fellow, he was not. He is not an Imperialist; he had to remain in garrison.”
“He wore a multitude of medals, I have been told. A cup of tea, Cecilia. And how long did he stay in England with his relatives?”
“Two days.”