The captain touched the visor of his cap.
Here was a chance of finding out what he thought!
“She said she—she said she—”
The young fellow had met a siren during his furlough, and fallen horribly in love himself (as he told me, a few moments afterwards, in a burst of confidence), and would willingly have invented a tender phrase for the consolation of his captain, whom he adored; but truth forbade.
“She said she was glad to hear you were well.”
“Miss Rolfe is very kind,” replied the captain, again touching his cap.
The young officer glanced at his chief, and instantly fell back upon the weather. “I think there is a storm brewing,” he faltered.
“Very likely,” replied the captain of the Myrmidons.
| [1] | Is this the language of a bachelor?—Ed. |