'I, Tony Dalton—the biggest fool in Her Majesty's service,' replied that personage, with a groan.
'Does Mrs. Trelawney know of this state of affairs?' asked Goring, after a long pause.
'I have more than once feared as much.'
'She hinted to me once that there was a secret in your life that precluded her reception of your addresses. Then it is so?'
'Yes, that I am a married man,' replied Dalton, as he threw open his dark green and silk-braided patrol jacket (which he had resumed after the march) as if its collar choked him, tossed his half-finished cigar into the blazing fire, and drained his glass only to replenish it again.
It was in a hotel at Southampton, not far from where the transport lay, when they were having a 'farewell drink' after a cutlet or so, that Dalton made this astounding revelation to his friend—one that seemed fully to account for many peculiarities which the latter had remarked in Dalton's intercourse with Mrs. Trelawney.
'Why, in the name of all that is wonderful, have you concealed this so long?'
'An emotion of shame perhaps—shame at my own egregious folly tied my tongue.'
'But when, where, how did it all come about?'
'The most miserable stories are often told in a few words, and thus told best; and, Goring, I shall tell you mine,' replied Dalton.