"Does it not occur to you, most sapient sir, that your cousin might find it easier and more convenient to forget you—to ignore rather than to remember you, and do her utmost to be your friend?"
"True, Tom, but you cannot feel as I feel in this matter."
"And then, of course, it is not every dragoon who carries in his valise a diploma of baronetcy."
"These last words of yours, Kirkton, have cured me even of regret," said I, bitterly.
"Then I am sorry that they passed my lips. 'Oons man, why not make love to her?—there are worse matches in this world than a young and handsome cousin."
These words provoked only an angry smile, and the trumpet sounding for stable duty cut short the interview by hurrying us to look after the wants of our respective steeds.
So, according to my desire, Colonel Preston wrote to the agents, and the money was returned; but in the next War Office Gazette how great was the surprise of my comrades and myself when we read the following announcement—
"Scots Greys, Light Troop.—Lieut. Sholto Douglas to be captain, vice Lindsay, killed in action; Cornet James Keith to be Lieut., vice Douglas, promoted; Sir Basil Gauntlet, Bart., to be cornet, vice Keith."
"Sir Basil Gauntlet, Baronet!"
Had a loaded bomb of the greatest size exploded in the centre of the mess-room table it could scarcely have created so much speculation as this remarkable gazette did among the officers of his Majesty's Second Dragoons, of whom I thus found myself one.