“That,” said Gerald, “is Madison Square—or perhaps you know New York? My sister would, of course, be only too glad to finish the work, but I fear that my mother's peculiarly ardent temperament will now insist on her own accomplishment of the task. But perhaps you do not understand temperaments?”
“Very little, I'm afraid,” confessed Orde.
They walked on for some distance farther.
“Your father was in the Mexican War?” said Orde, to change the trend of his own thoughts.
“He was a most distinguished officer. I believe he received the Medal of Honour for a part in the affair of the Molina del Rey.”
“What command had he in the Civil War?” asked Orde. “I fooled around the outskirts of that a little myself.”
“My father resigned from the army in '54,” replied Gerald, with his cool, impersonal courtesy.
“That was too bad; just before the chance for more service,” said Orde.
“Army life was incompatible with my mother's temperament,” stated Gerald.
Orde said nothing more. It was Gerald's turn to end the pause.