"That we should give him an opportunity of doing so again," interrupted the lieutenant-general.
"A good idea!" muttered some of the staff.
"Mr. Kennedy," said Cosmo, beckoning forward the anxious listener; "a message saying where we shall halt to-morrow is to be despatched to the guerilla De Saldos; you will, of course, only be too happy to bear it?"
"I beg most respectfully to decline, sir," said Quentin, emphatically, and with growing anger.
"What the devil, sirrah?" Cosmo was beginning.
"Ha—indeed, and wherefore?" asked the general.
"I am scarcely able to keep up with the regiment, General Hope," replied Quentin; "I have been seriously ill, and am more fit for hospital than for duty."
The general knit his brows, and Cosmo dealt Quentin, through his eyeglass, a glance of cool scrutiny, that deepened into withering scorn or hate without alloy.
"Very well, we must send an orderly dragoon," said Sir John Hope, turning away.
"Take care, Mr. Kennedy," said Cosmo, "lest at a future time this refusal may be remembered against you to your disadvantage."