"So you did. Here." The colonel tossed the flower across the room and
Warburton caught it.
"I should like to know, sir, if you are going to expose me. It's no more than I deserve."
The colonel studied the lithographs on the walls. "Your selection?"—with a wave of the hand.
"No, sir. I should like to know what you are going to do. It would relieve my mind. As a matter of fact, I confess that I am growing weary of the mask." Warburton waited.
"You make a very respectable butler, though,"—musingly.
"Shall you expose me, sir?"—persistently.
"No, lad. I should not want it to get about that a former officer of mine could possibly make such an ass of himself. You have slept all night in jail, you have groomed horses, you have worn a livery which no gentleman with any self-respect would wear, and all to no purpose whatever. Why, in the name of the infernal regions, didn't you meet her in a formal way? There would have been plenty of opportunities."
Warburton shrugged; so did the colonel, who stood up and shook the wrinkles from his trousers.
"Shall you be long in Washington, sir?" asked Warburton, politely.
"In a hurry to get rid of me, eh?"—with a grim smile. "Well, perhaps in a few days."