The colonel then entered into the history of Pompey the Great. “I was speaking,” said Miss Hauton, “to Mr. Godfrey Percy of his family—relations of yours, Mr. Falconer, are not they? He has another sister, I think, some one told me, a beautiful sister, Caroline, who was not at the ball last night?”
“Yes,” said Buckhurst, who looked at this instant also to the dog for assistance—“Pompey!—Pompey!—poor fellow!”
“Is Miss Caroline Percy like her mother?”
“No.”
“Like her father—or her brother?”
“Not particularly—Will you honour me with any commands for town?—Colonel, have you any?—I’m just going off with Major Clay,” said Buckhurst.
“Not you, indeed,” cried the colonel; “your father has made you over to me, and I won’t give you leave of absence, my good fellow.—You’re under orders for Cheltenham to-morrow, my boy—No reply, sir—no arguing with your commanding officer. You’ve no more to do, but to tell Clay to go without you.”
“And now,” continued the colonel, returning to Godfrey Percy, after Buckhurst had left the room, “what hinders you from making one of our party? You can’t do better. There’s Maria and Lady Oldborough were both wishing it at breakfast—Maria, can’t you say something?”
Maria’s eyes said more than the colonel could have said, if he had spoken for ever.
“But perhaps Mr. Godfrey Percy may have other engagements,” said she, with a timid persuasive tone, which Godfrey found it extremely difficult to resist.