“Collinson!” echoed the major, his whole face alight with pleasure. “Where is he? How long has he been here? I did not know he had left India.”
“He came home last autumn, I fancy; was not well, and got twelve months’ leave. He has been staying at Lefford for some time.”
“I should like to see him! Good old Collinson! He and I were close friends. He is a nice fellow.”
“Old, you style him!” cried Dr. Knox. “I should rather call him young—of the two.”
Major Leckie laughed. “It is a word we are all given to using, doctor. Of course Collinson’s not old in years. Why is he staying at Lefford?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. Unless it is that he has fallen in love. I heard him remark one day that the air of the place suited him.”
“Ah ah, Master Collinson!” laughed the major. “In love, are you, sir! Caught at last, are you! Who is the lady?”
“Nay, I spoke only in jest,” returned Dr. Knox. “He seems to be a general admirer; but I don’t know that it is any one in particular. Report has mentioned one or two ladies, but report is often a false town-crier.”
“Well, she will be in luck—whoever gets him. He is one of the nicest, truest fellows I know; and will make a rare good husband.”
“It is said he has private means. Do you know whether that’s true?”