Just then, the waiter entered with the luncheon, and they all sat down to table, Violet glancing at Boy from time to time under the shadow of her long eyelashes, not knowing quite what to make of him.
“Well, what are you doing with yourself now?” asked the Major. “Going up for Sandhurst?”
“Yes.”
“Are you glad you are going to be a soldier?”
Boy was engaged in fastidiously picking one or two bones out of the small piece of fish which had just been served to him, and he replied abstractedly,—
“Oh, I don’t mind it!”
“Don’t mind it!” exclaimed Desmond. “But—God bless my soul!—don’t you like it? Don’t you love it? Don’t you think it’s the finest thing a young chap can do,—to learn how to fight for the glory of his country?”
Boy looked quite surprised at this outburst. Then it seemed to dawn upon him in the light of a joke, for he sniggered.
“Oh, not so much as all that!” he said, and fell to carefully considering the fish-bones again.
The Major gave a portentous cough, and swallowed his portion of fish recklessly, somewhat as if he were swallowing a big “D——n!” by way of sauce and flavour to the whole. Violet flushed and paled alternately,—she was feeling worried on behalf of Miss Letty, who looked nervous and preoccupied.