"It's a happy nature." and he bowed to Geoffrey, humbly congratulating him on a lady of such simple tastes.
Geoffrey, who had now had enough of his good tutor, eliminated him by a compliment or so on Alison's voice and the demand that she should sing again. He found her in an awkward temper. She would not sing this, she would not sing that, she found faults in every song known to Mr. Waverton. Yet in a fashion she was encouraging. For this new method of keeping him off was governed by a queer adulation of him: no song in the world could be worth his distinguished attention; her little voice must be to his accomplished ear vain and ludicrous; the kind things he was so good as to say were vastly gratifying, to be sure, but they were merely his kind condescension. And, oh Lud, it was time she was gone, or poor, dear Weston would be imagining her slaughtered on the highway.
Geoffrey could not make much of this, but was pleased to take it as flattering feminine homage to his magnificence. By way of reward, he announced an intention of riding home with her carriage. "Faith, you are too good"—her eyes were modestly hidden—"but then you are too good to everybody. Is he not, Mr. Boyce?"
"Oh, ma'am, we all practise on his kindness," Harry said.
"A good night to your mourning," she said sharply, "dear Lady Waverton."
They kissed. "Colonel Boyce, I hold you to your promise."
"With all my heart, ma'am. Your devoted."
She was gone, and Harry, with a look of significance at his father, went off too….
In that shabby upper chamber of his, Harry again offered the Colonel a choice between the bed and the one chair. Colonel Boyce made a gesture and an exclamation of impatience, and remained standing. "Now, what the devil do you want with me?" he complained.
"I want to be very grateful. I want to enlist with you. When shall we start?"
His father frowned, and in a little while made a crooked answer, "Do you know, Harry, you are too mighty subtle. I was so at your years. It's very pretty sport, but—well, it won't butter your parsnips. The women can't tell what to make of it. Having, in general, no humour, pretty creatures."