"How are they? How do they take Charley's escape?"
"Mrs. Marsh is poorly—confined to her bed, I believe, but Nathalie, they tell me, appears better, and takes care of her mother. Your sister, however, will be able to tell you all particulars."
"I say, Cavendish," exclaimed Val, "you could go in for Jane McGregor, now. She is nearly as rich as poor Natty was to be."
"Bah! What do I care for her riches?"
"Oh, yes, I understand; but just reflect that her papa will give her ten thousand pounds on her wedding-day, and three times that much at his death; and I am sure you will be brought to take pity on her."
"Take pity on her?"
"Tah! Tah! Tah!" cried Val; "don't play innocent. You know as well as I do, she is dying for you."
"But, my dear Blake," expostulated the captain, "she has red hair and freckles."
"Auburn hair—auburn! As for the freckles, her guineas will cover them. Will you come in?" They were at the office door, but Captain Cavendish declined.
"I have to go to barracks," he said. "Good morning."