"And moderate virtue—eh, Pimple?"
"You are very impertinent, Monkton," remonstrated the other, upbraidingly.
"But truthful, my dear boy, very truthful," said the quizzing lieutenant, for half the conversation was mere "barrack-room chaff," to use a phrase then unknown; "and if old Squaretoes——"
"Who do you mean?"
"Mean? why this rich old flax-spinner, the father of your fair one. If he should come down handsomely, we fellows of the 25th would consider you quite as our factor—eh, Pimple?"
On hearing this number, which was so familiar to his ear, Quentin Kennedy turned to observe the speakers more particularly, when a third officer, a very handsome man, about forty years of age, with a nut-brown cheek, a rollicking blue eye, and a hearty laugh, a square, well-built form, clad in full regimentals, scarlet-faced and lapelled with green and gold to the waist, and wearing large loose epaulettes, burst into the room, noisily and without ceremony. As he did so, he threw his arms round a very pretty chambermaid, who was tripping past with something from the sideboard, and kissing the girl, who was half pleased and half scared, he shouted in a tragi-comic manner, a passage from the Merchant's Wife, a now forgotten play:—
"Woman thou stol'st my heart—just now thou stol'st it,
A cannon-bullet might have kissed my lips
And left me as much life!"
"If the sour-visaged landlord catches you kissing any of his squaws"——suggested the lieutenant.
"It is a custom we learned in the Dutch service," replied the new comer, laughingly.
"Have you got the route for to-morrow, Warriston?" asked the lieutenant.