"What's he colonel of?" asked Ardmore gloomily.
"He was colonel in the Spanish War, or was going to be, but he got typhoid fever, and so he couldn't go to Cuba, and papa appointed him adjutant-general as a reward for his services; but everybody calls him Colonel just the same."
"It looks like a pretty easy way of getting a title," murmured Ardmore. "I had typhoid fever once, and nearly died, and all my hair came out."
"You oughtn't to speak that way of my fiancé. It's quite impertinent in a mere private secretary to talk so."
"I beg your pardon. I forgot that you were engaged. You'll have to go to Camp Dangerfield and inspect the troops yourself, and they would a lot rather have you inspect them than have your father do it."
"You mustn't say things like that! I thought I told you your appointment carried no social recognition. You mustn't talk to me as though I was a girl you really know—"
"But there's no use of making-believe such things when I do know you!"
"Not the least little tiny bit, you don't! Do you suppose, if you were a gentleman I knew and had been introduced to, I would be talking to you here in papa's office?"
"But I pretend to be a gentleman; you certainly wouldn't be talking to me if you thought me anything else."
"I can't even discuss the matter, Mr. Ardmore. A gentleman wouldn't lie to a lady."