A hectic flush spread over the soldier's face, and he looked away from the speaker as he answered—
"My name is Digby, it is true, sir; but I do not think we have met before. Come, Helen, I am well now—we will go home."
"Try and play with that great dog, my child," said the stranger—"I want to talk with your father."
The child bowed her submissive head, and moved away; but she did not play with the dog.
"I must re-introduce myself, formally, I see," quoth the stranger. "You were in the same regiment with myself, and my name is L'Estrange."
"My lord," said the soldier, rising, "forgive me that—"
"I don't think that it was the fashion to call me 'my lord' at the mess-table. Come, what has happened to you?—on half-pay?"
Mr. Digby shook his head mournfully.
"Digby, old fellow, can you lend me £100?" said Lord L'Estrange, clapping his ci-devant brother officer on the shoulder, and in a tone of voice that seemed like a boy's—so impudent was it, and devil-me-carish. "No! Well, that's lucky, for I can lend it to you."
Mr. Digby burst into tears.