"Is that the fellow?"
She laughed. "You're right first time. How did you guess?" She scrambled to her feet. "I'll fetch him in."
She fetched him in, a haggard, broad-shouldered man with a back like a sloping plank of wood. He wore corporal's stripes. He saluted and stood at rigid attention.
"This is Tufton," said Betty.
I despatched her in search of Marigold. To Tufton I said, regarding him with what, without vanity, I may term an expert eye:
"You're an old soldier."
"Yes, sir."
"Guards?"
His eyes brightened. "Yes, sir. Seven years in the Grenadiers. Then two years out. Rejoined on outbreak of war, sir."
I rubbed my hands together in satisfaction. "I'm an old soldier too," said I.