The two men watched her till she vanished.
“She is a beautiful lady,” observed Christian, with enthusiasm; “and very courteous, too.”
Lord Julius offered no remark upon this, but stood for a little with his gaze apparently fixed on the point whence she had disappeared. Then, without turning his head, he said in a gently grave way:
“If I were you, Christian, I would make as few allusions, in mixed company, to my father as possible.”
“Ah, yes! this is what I desired to discuss with you!” said the young man, stoutly. He swung round to face the other, and his eyes sparkled with impatience. “Everybody avoids mention of him; they turn to something else when I speak his name—all but those abominable young men who offered him insult. That is what I should very much like to talk about!”
“I had thought it might not be necessary,” replied Lord Julius. “At least, I had hoped you would pick up the information for yourself—a harmless little at a time, and guess the rest, and so spare everybody, yourself included. But that is precisely what you seem not to do; and I dare say I was wrong in not talking frankly with you at the start. But let me understand first: what do you know about your father?”
“Only that he was a soldier, a professional soldier. That I have told you,” panted Christian.
“Yes, and a very notable soldier,” responded the other. “He won the Victoria Cross in the Mutiny—the youngest man in all India to do so. That is for you to remember always—in your own mind—for your own pride and consolation.”
“Ah, yes, always!” murmured the son.
“And in other services, too, after he left England,” the elder man went on, “I have understood that he was a loyal and very valuable officer to those he fought for. This also is something for you to be proud of—-but still inside your own mind! That it is necessary to remember—that you must keep it to yourself. Forgive my repeating the injunction.”