Katherine went into the house to relieve Beatrice's apprehensions, and they returned together to add to the torrent of reproach that assailed the Ensign's ears. He was doubled up with unseemly mirth and apparently did not hear.
"That just goes to show," he said, when the paroxysm had passed, "how the mind influences the body. I had an argument with Doc this morning, and I've proved my point. If he hadn't let Major go, you would have thought you had eaten him and been miserable accordingly. Rob said it was good, and, dog or not dog, the fact remains."
Beatrice turned pale as a horrible suspicion entered her mind. "What is it?" she asked. "Upon your word and honour, what is it?"
"It's mutton stew," replied Ronald, conclusively, "made by Mrs. Mackenzie this very morning for your own approaching dinner. She kindly gave me some of it to keep me alive till noon. In fact, I helped to make it."
"You're a wretch!" exclaimed Katherine.
"Just hear 'em, Doc," said Ronald, assuming a grieved tone.
"I'm not sure but what you deserve it," laughed Norton. "If I had known what you were going to do, I wouldn't have tried to hold the dog."
"It's really very interesting," observed the Ensign, thoughtfully. "It shows what slaves of custom we are. Major is a medium-sized, woolly animal, much better looking than a sheep, yet sheep is considered eatable and Major isn't. Then, too, we eat cattle and draw the line at horses—there must be many a good steak on Queen."
Tears came to Beatrice's eyes, but she said nothing, and Forsyth warned Ronald with a look which was not noticed.
"Not that I think of eating her," resumed George, cheerfully; "I wouldn't get any exercise if I did. I wouldn't miss leading that beast around the Fort every morning for a fortune. It's the only uninterrupted feminine society I have."