"It would be promotion," said L'Isle, laughing, "to put a footman into the saddle; and William would be of use for once in his life."
"Neither I nor nature demand usefulness of him. His whole capital consists in being a tall footman, who becomes his livery; and he fulfills his destiny when both he and it excite the admiration of the Elvas ladies."
The coach presently turned into the olive yard, and drew up before the old monastic pile without accident. L'Isle was surprised to see the inhabited part of the building brightly lighted up at this late hour. Old Moodie, looking graver and more sour than ever, was at the open door. L'Isle handed Lady Mabel out of the coach, and she coolly took his arm, showing that he was expected to hand her up stairs, before taking leave of her. Moodie followed them into the drawing-room, and said abruptly, "Well, my lady, will you have supper now?"
"Certainly, if it be ready. By-the-bye, Colonel L'Isle, I did not see you take the least refreshment at Mrs. Shortridge's—not even half a pound of sugarplums, like the Portuguese ladies."
"I followed your example; for you yourself fasted."
"I was too busy talking my best and my last to my Portuguese friends," said Lady Mabel. "But when and where did you dine?"
"Dine?" said L'Isle, hesitating, then recollecting his luncheon; "about two o'clock, in Badajoz."
"A Spanish dinner, I'll warrant, at a Spaniard's house!" she exclaimed, throwing up her hands.
"You must be faint with hunger. Why," she added, taking up a light, and holding it close to him, "you do look pale and famished; as if you had dined like a Portuguese beggar's brat,—on a crust, rubbed over with a sardinha, to give it a flavor. I cannot let you go away in this condition. If you starve yourself so, you will degenerate from a beef-eating red-coat, into a rationless Spanish soldier."
"There is no danger of that," L'Isle answered. "But how do you happen to have a supper ready at this hour?"