“Yes. It’s a blow to her, Fitz!—I’m sure it must be a blow!”
Fitz was puzzled, and grew more saturnine of aspect than ever.
“What do you mean?” he asked. “What’s happened? Has he got anything the matter with him?”
“He’s got everything the matter with him!” said the Major, bursting forth into hot speech—“everything! Callousness is the matter with him—worldliness is the matter with him—indifference to affection is the matter with him,—d——n it, sir!—general priggishness is the matter with him! By Jove! The rascal doesn’t seem to have an ounce of real warm blood in all his body!”
The thin stern physiognomy of the worthy Captain ‘Fitz’ remained unmoved, except for the faintest flickering expression, which might have been satire, grief, surprise, scorn, or humour, whichever way the observer chose to take it.
“Ah!” he said, letting the ejaculation escape his lips slowly, as though it were a puff of smoke.
The Major rolled his eyes indignantly.
“Ah!” he repeated—“Is that all you can say?”
“My dear chap, what do you want me to say?” remonstrated Fitz—“There’s nothing to be said!”
“That’s true!” said the Major, and relapsed into silence. But not for long, however. Drawing his cigar out of his mouth after an interval of meditative smoking, he began in subdued tones,—