"I heard you had refused to enlist, Nancarrow."
"Who told you?"
"Trevanion: he said you had shown the white feather over the whole business, and pretended to excuse yourself by religious scruples."
Bob was silent for a moment; he scarcely knew how to reply.
"I told Trevanion he was altogether mistaken in you," went on Pickford; "but he gave such details of your refusal, and described in such graphic language what others had said about you, that it seemed impossible for him to be mistaken. Some girl gave you a white feather, didn't she, at the Public Hall in St. Ia?"
"Did Trevanion tell you that?"—and there was anger in Bob's voice.
"I thought it was scarcely a sportsmanlike thing to do," said Pickford, noticing the look on Bob's face; "I told him so, too. We were talking about you only last night."
"Is Trevanion here, then?"
"Yes: didn't you know? He has been in the thick of it the whole day. As you know, he is Captain of the Royal West—a fine lot of men he has, too."
"And he thinks I am still in Cornwall?" asked Bob.