"All right," said the other, flourishing an oblong official paper; "it was brought by an orderly dragoon—here it is. His majesty's will and pleasure, &c., to civil (query, uncivil) magistrates and others and so forth, to provide billets for the noisy, carriages for the drunken, and handcuffs for the disorderly, of three officers, three sergeants, and seventy rank and file, proceeding by Muirkirk and Kirknewton to Edinburgh—a seventy miles' march."
"Ugh!" groaned the lieutenant.
"So, Pimple, your love affair must be off like ourselves, by beat of drum to-morrow."
The ensign heaved a kind of mock sigh, and raised his white eyebrows.
"Now, waiter, quick with dinner—the best in larder and cellar," said the captain to that churlish attendant, who laid a knife and fork for Quentin at the extreme end of the long table.
"Who is the solitary or exclusive person that is to be carved for there, half a mile off?" asked the captain.
The waiter glanced towards Quentin.
"Nonsense," said the Captain of the 94th, "lay his cover with ours—absurd to dine alone at the end of this devilish long table. You'll join us, eh?"
"With pleasure," said Quentin, bowing.
"A glass of wine with you. What are you drinking?"