"If a man had ever dared to tell me that you would talk so, I would have knocked him down. You're not worthy to be born of such a father and it's a blessing that your mother's dead. You're not worthy to have had my mother foster you ever since you were a little shaver. You're not worthy of the worst woman that ever lived. You've lost your manhood. You can be cashiered from the army—and you can go to hell! You're not worth saving!"
Young Stewart of the Engineers turned on his heel and swung out of the room as he would have swung, face forward, at the head of a line, leading into action.
Later when he returned Trevelyan had gone. He stood in the doorway of the deserted room and stared fixedly at where Trevelyan had lain through the night. He was himself again, and a great shame at his lost control swept over him. He had preached of self-control to Trevelyan.
"And I'd give my life for the boy's," he said to himself.
It was remarked at mess that night that Trevelyan did not touch his food, and that he left earlier even than was his wont. Stewart followed him out into the stillness of the evening.
"Trevelyan," he called, following the quickly moving figure up the steps of his quarters.
Trevelyan turned sharply.
"I don't want any more of your talk," he said. "Good-night!" And slammed the door in Stewart's face.
Stewart stood there for a moment tapping his booted foot against the floor of the piazza. Then he went to his own quarters.
"I've come out to this cursed hole to serve the boy, and I've lost him instead! I've made a jolly mess of it all, this time!"