"Yes--It wasn't my doing. There is a time, you know, when one must please the old folks--I grew old enough and wise enough to cut loose from the army before I had gained or lost much by it."
He did not understand the displeased gravity of Fleda's face, and went on insinuatingly;--
"Unless I have lost what Charlton has gained--something I did not know hung upon the decision--Perhaps you think a man is taller for having iron heels to his boots?"
"I do not measure a man by his inches," said Fleda.
"Then you have no particular predilection for shooting men?"
"I have no predilection for shooting anything, sir."
"Then I am safe!" said he, with an arrogant little air of satisfaction. "I was born under an indolent star, but I confess to you, privately, of the two I would rather gather my harvests with the sickle than the sword. How does your uncle find it?"
"Find what, sir?"
"The worship of Ceres?--I remember he used to be devoted to Apollo and the Muses."
"Are they rival deities?"