Gilchrist tried to laugh, and succeeded very badly. He rose from his chair, knocking a few scattered cigar ashes carefully off his braided cuff.
“Well, I confess I should not be sorry to see that prating brat of Bootles’s out of the road. We should perhaps get at the truth then.” And having delivered himself of this feeling speech, he went out, banging the door after him.
“Well, upon my soul!” exclaimed Preston.
“Oh, the man’s got a tile loose in his upper story,” said Hartog, decidedly. “No man in his senses would talk such miserable rot as that. Always thought Gilchrist a crazy fool myself, but I’m sure of it now.”
“And how he sticks to it Miss Mignon is Bootles’s own child—as if it could be any good for him to say she isn’t if she is.”
“No. I shall tell Bootles to keep an eye on Gilchrist. I say, what a comfort it would be if he would only exchange! I suppose we can’t manage to dazzle him with the delights of India, eh?”
“Not very well. Besides, he lost ever so much seniority by coming to us.”
“No such luck. It’s queer, though, he should be so persistent about Bootles and Miss Mignon. I suppose he wants to daub Bootles with some of his own mud. Thinks if he only throws enough, some of it’s sure to stick; and so it would with most men. Happily, however, it don’t in the least matter what a little cad like Gilchrist chooses to say about a man like Bootles—a jealous little beast.”
Neither of them said any more about the matter, but Hartog took the earliest opportunity of repeating to Bootles what “that ass Gilchrist” had said about seeing that prating brat of Bootles’s out of the road, and in consequence a kind of watch was set upon the child. Not that Bootles, though he had a very poor opinion of Gilchrist and Gilchrist’s brains, was afraid for a moment that he would give Miss Mignon poisoned bonbons, or run off with her and drop her in the river; yet he did think it not improbable that he might encourage an already dangerous spirit of adventure, and of course be absolutely blameless if she could get trampled by a horse’s cruel hoofs, or crushed by one of the many traps going in and out of barracks.
When Bootles had taken his first long leave after Miss Mignon’s coming, he had left her at Idleminster in charge of her nurse; but when long leave came round again, and she must have been about two and a half, he decided to take her with him. One reason for this was certainly a fear of any pranks Gilchrist might choose to play, another that Lacy was taking his leave at the same time, and Bootles was afraid, in the absence of both, Miss Mignon might fret herself into a fever. And, besides, he had missed the child during a fortnight’s deer-stalking in Scotland that autumn more than he would have liked to own.