The Major had never been gayer, more debonair. He glittered. He was a very sun. When he returned at night few knew. But the mornings saw him blithe and tuneful.
The landlady and her daughter began to feel qualms. Still, they hardened their hearts; and it was not until the morning of the last day of the grace given him that the Major alluded to the unpleasant affair.
He sent the little maid-of-all-work to say that he wished to see the ladies if they could spare him five minutes—it would only take three. He was ushered into their little sitting-room with all the formalities he himself observed with so rigid an etiquette.
“Well, Major!” The landlady broke an embarrassed silence.
“Ladies,” said he—“I received a letter a week ago for which I have expected a formal apology. It has not been tendered.”
The ladies stiffened, ruffled.
The elder said:
“Major Modeyne, we hope you do not intend to make us use pressure to you.”
“No lady’s pressure has ever met rebuff from me,” said the Major gallantly. “I would meet the lady half way.”
The daughter sniffed: