“I think that you’re a gintleman, Captain,� said Peggy, with a tender smile, “and would never go back on the promise you gev to the Major’s daughter. An’ now that I’m her, an’ she’s me, you’ll do your duty by me, as Dancey Juxon will do his to Donohoe’s poor unfortunate girl. You may thrust him. We’ve had it out betune us, an’ he’s with her now.�
“With—her—now?� repeated the bewildered Captain.
“I sent him to the Major’s—I mane papa’s—quarters ten minnits ago, wid a flea in his ear!� said Peggy, folding her red hands about the elbow of her captive, and rubbing her cheek against his shoulder strap. “‘I dar’ you,’ sez I, ‘to hang about here,’ sez I, ‘makin’ sheep’s eyes at a daughter av the Quality, whin that poor crayture you gev your promise to is cryin’ her two eyes out for the gliff av a glimpse av your red head. Away wid you,’ sez I, ‘an’ prove yourself a man av your word, Dancey Juxon, or maybe Peggy Donohoe’ll be takin’ the law av you wan av these fine days!’�
“My good girl,� said Gerry Garthside, almost pleadingly, “you can’t really believe what you say you’ve told Juxon—that he is obliged to marry Miss Rufford, or the lady who has borne that name until now, because he happens to have given a promise of marriage to Peggy Donohoe, and Miss Rufford and Peggy have changed places?�
“I mane that!� Peggy’s black eyes snapped out sparks of fire; as she tossed her head, a loosened coil of black hair tumbled upon her shoulder. Her fine bust heaved, her cheeks burned scarlet—she had never looked finer in her life. “Do I not mane just that? Think! Isn’t her father mine? Isn’t her home my home?—the dhress she wears upon her back mine?—the ring she has upon the finger av her mine? Ah, musha, an’ the man that put it there!� Her grasp on Captain Gerry’s arm tightened, her eyes sought his and held his; her warm, fragrant breath came and went about his face like a personal caress. “Sure, dear, you’ll not regret ut,� said Peggy, “for I loved you iver since I clapped my two eyes on you—I take the Blessed Saints to witness! An’ Dancey Juxon’ll be dacent to Donohoe’s daughter, an’ you an’ me will be afther lendin’ the young couple a hand, lettin’ her have the washin’ maybe, or the waitin’ at our table—or by-an’-by�—she lowered her black lashes—“she might come as nurse to the children. So, darlin’....�
The sentence was never finished, for the alarmed Captain broke from the toils and fled. The Mess story goes that he double-locked his outer door, barricaded the inner one with a chest of drawers and a portable tin shower bath, and spent the rest of the day in reconnoitering from behind the window curtains in anticipation of a descent of the enemy. But in reality he bent his steps toward the North Quadrangle, where the Major’s quarters were, and over the familiar blue crockery window boxes full of daffodils, he caught a glimpse of Emmie’s sweet face, not pale or bearing marks of secretly shed tears as when he last kissed it, but bright-eyed, flushed, and dimpling with laughter as she nodded and waved her hand to a departing visitor, who, absorbed in the charming vision, glimpsed above the daffodils, collided with and cannoned off the Captain.
“Hullo! You, Juxon?�
“Beg pardon, sir,� said Private Juxon, rigidly at the salute. “I ’ope I ’aven’t ’urt you!� He grinned happily.
“Have you come into a fortune, or inherited a title? You look pretty chirpy!� said the Captain.
“Not a bad ’it of ’is by ’arf,� said Private Juxon critically to Private Juxon, “about the comin’ into a title. ‘For,’ says she, ‘the greatest gentleman in the land couldn’t ’ave done more—and though I can’t accept your offer, I shall always look up to you and respect you as the most chivalrousest and honorablest man I ever met!’ Wot price me, after that?�