“I fancy we evolved the idea among us. You see she runs in and out of my rooms, her own, and Mrs. Gray’s, the adjutant’s wife, that is,” Bootles answered. “And barrack corridors are not exactly hot-houses. Besides, our doctor keeps his eye on her, and he blames the wrapping-up for her never having a day’s illness.”
“I believe in it,” asserted Mrs. Smith.
“And I—oh! our married ladies tell me I am quite an authority on the subject. I can tell you we get fearfully chaffed about her, Lacy and I.”
“Why?” Miss Grace asked.
“Well, because she goes about with us a good deal, and people seem to find the situation difficult to understand.” He took it for granted that she knew all about Miss Mignon, and she did not press the question further. But half an hour later, when Mrs. Smith was thinking of dressing, Miss Grace tapped at her door and entered.
“Could you lend me a few black pins?” she asked. “Madame and I have both forgotten them.”
“Certainly, my dear—take the box.”
But Miss Grace only took a few in the pink palm of her hand.
“What a pretty child that is!” she said, carelessly. “Did the mother die when it was born?”
“Oh, my dear!” cried Mrs. Smith, “she is not Captain Ferrers’s child. No relation whatever.”