"I have a son, too, General—my dear Denzil—who left us but lately to join his Regiment."
"Ah—indeed—you quite interest me. Where is it stationed?"
"In India—far, far from me."
"Of course, you could not have him always at your apron-strings. What, or which, is his corps?"
"The Cornish Light Infantry."
"My own Regiment! I am the full colonel of it: why did he not leave a card with me on appointment?—he must have known of my whereabouts."
A cloud came over the fair open countenance of Trecarrel, and Constance felt that, in the further prosecution of their systematic incognito, a breach of military etiquette and punctilio had taken place.
"My young friend Trevelyan is in the same corps," said the General, after a pause.
Constance knew that too, and that it had been the Regiment of her husband during their happiest days at Montreal; but when with it he had borne his family surname, and not that of Devereaux.
"Oh, what a tangled web we weave,
"When first we practise to deceive!"