"Hang it, Lumsden," said Pomeroy, "I call it a crying shame, that merely because a man happens to patter a little Spanish he should not only be shoved over the heads of better men than himself, but cut out more presentable ones with the jolliest girl I've seen this end of the Bay."
Jack smiled and held his peace.
"I say, you fellows," said Shirley, "give me a rhyme for Saragossa, someone. I've just knocked off a little gem of a thing—'Lines to J——a A——z', but hang me if I can tag the last of 'em."
"A good job too!" said Smith. "The whole company seems to be moonstruck. 'Pon my word, I believe I'm the only one of you that can keep his head."
"Ah," said the Grampus with a capacious sigh, "'tisn't the head, it's the heart!" There was a general laugh at his lugubrious accent; whereupon, with a sudden return to everyday life, he cried: "And I'll bet you, Harry George Wakelyn Smith, you're one of the first to find it out."
Smith snorted scornfully. He little imagined that long before the war was over he would himself meet the lovely Spanish damsel in distress who was to become Lady Smith of Aliwal and give her name to a certain little town, the Saragossa of South Africa.
Jack, who had taken his comrades' good-humoured banter with unfailing cheerfulness, now slipped away to join the ladies in the sala. When he entered the room, he noticed at once a deeper flush than usual on Juanita's cheeks, and felt that something was amiss. It was some little time before he could escape the renewed attentions of the circle. Then, seating himself beside Juanita, he said anxiously:
"Is anything wrong, Juanita?"
"Wrong! No, of course not. Why should anything be wrong?"
She turned her head away, and tapped her hand impatiently with her fan. Jack, noting the flush on her cheek, felt uneasily that her manner belied her words.