"Indeed. You have got a month's leave?"
"Between returns, yes."
"Is the route come?"
"A strange question, when you and I are here."
"Haw—yes, of course—how devilish good."
"It has not," said I, coldly; "but we are under orders for foreign service, and may look to have our leaves cancelled by a telegram any day or hour."
"The devil—really!"
"Fact, though, however unpleasant it may be. So my uncle, Sir Nigel, met you at—where was it?"
"Chillingham's shooting-box, in the Highlands."
"I was not aware that you knew the earl."