“The Army? But Harry is poor.”
I inwardly smiled at Miss Gascoyne’s notion of poverty. I knew what she thought the Army should mean for a Gascoyne:—a crack cavalry regiment and unlimited private means.
“An inexpensive line regiment.”
“Oh dear!”
I laughed. “It’s the thing, depend upon it. He will be in a profession he likes, among men who take their profession seriously. After all, he will have a better average of gentlemen than he would have in a crack regiment, even if he does not have the high nobility of exceptions.”
“I see what you mean, but I don’t think Harry would ever consent.”
“I believe you could make him do anything.”
I was inwardly congratulating myself on the perfect conviction with which I was discussing the future of one who by this time was most probably solving problems in theology.
We talked on till Miss Gascoyne grew anxious.
“I really wish Harry would come home.”