His wife shook her head.
"Five feet four and about thirty round the chest, and wants to marry my daughter!" said the sergeant-major, with a sneer. "Eh? What's that? What did you say? What?"
"I said that's a pretty good size for a cockroach," murmured Mr. Farrer, defiantly. "Besides, size isn't everything. If it was, you'd be a general instead of only a sergeant-major."
"You get out of my house," said the other, as soon as he could get his breath. "Go on Sharp with it."
"I'm going," said the mortified Mr. Farrer. "I'm sorry if I was rude. I came on purpose to see you to-night. Bertha—Miss Ward, I mean—told me your ideas, but I couldn't believe her. I said you'd got more common sense than to object to a man just because he wasn't a soldier."
"I want a man for a son-in-law," said the other. "I don't say he's got to be a soldier."
"Just so," said Mr. Farrer. "You're a man, ain't you? Well, I'll do anything that you'll do."
"Pph!" said the sergeant-major. "I've done my little lot. I've been in action four times, and wounded in three places. That's my tally."
"The colonel said once that my husband doesn't know what fear is," said Mrs. Ward, timidly. "He's afraid of nothing."
"Except ghosts," remarked her daughter, softly.