The Sergeant obeyed and almost immediately out of the window came Mrs. Agatha's pretty face framed in a dainty, be-ribanded nightcap; at sight of the Sergeant, she flushed rosily, perceiving my lady, who beckoned imperiously, she smiled, nodded and vanished.
"Mrs. Agatha hath a pretty taste in nightcaps, Sergeant Zebedee!" said my lady demurely. The Sergeant looked sheepish, grew red, became exceedingly grim and finally answered:
"Aye, my lady."
"And a pretty face below, Sergeant!" said she, watching a lark that soared, carolling, against the blue.
"Aye, my lady!"
"And you will go a-marching to the wars, Sergeant!"
At this he uttered a sound between a sigh and a groan and thereafter looked grimmer than ever.
In surprisingly short time Mrs. Agatha appeared, as neat, demure and self-possessed as usual.
"Is aught amiss, my lady?" she enquired, dropping a curtsey.
"Only this, Mrs. Agatha, Major d'Arcy will away campaigning again and the Sergeant feels he must needs go too, so I have summoned you from bed that we together may end such folly."