seemed mortally shocked at me for behaving so.  I am not a bit ashamed though.  Dam is more important than good form, and I had to show him in the strongest possible way that he was dearer to me than ever.  If it was ’behaving like a servant-girl’—­all honour to servant-girls, I think ... considering the circumstances.  You should have seen his face before he caught sight of me.  Yes—­and after, too.  Though really I think he suffered more from my kissing him—­in uniform, in the street—­than if I had cut him.  It would be only for the minute though ... it must comfort him now, and always, to think that I love him so (since he loves me—­and always has done).  But what I must know before I can sleep peacefully again is the name by which he goes in the ‘2 Q.G’s.,’ so that I can write and comfort him regularly, send him things, and make him buy himself out when he sees he has been foolish and wicked in supposing that he has publicly disgraced himself and his name and us.  And I’m going to make Grandfather’s life a misery, and go about skinny and ragged and weeping, and say:  ’This is how you treat the daughter of your dead friend, you wicked, cruel, unjust old man,’ until he relents and sends for Dam and gets him into the Army properly....  But I am afraid Dam will think it his silly duty to flee from me and all my works, and hide himself where the names of de Warrenne and Stukeley are unknown and cannot be disgraced.

  “I rely on you, Ormonde,

  “Your ashamed grateful friend,

  “LUCILLE GAVESTONE.”

Second Lieutenant Delorme rang the bell.

“Bradshaw,” he said, as his soldier-servant appeared.  “And get me a telegraph form.”

“Yussir,” said Private Billings, and marched to the Mess ante-room purposefully, with hope in his heart that Mr. Delorme ’ad nothink less than a ’alf dollar for the telegram and would forgit to arx for the chainge, as was his occasional praiseworthy procedure.

Mr. Delorme, alas, proved to have a mean and vulgar shilling, the which he handed to Private Billings with a form containing the message:—­

“Can do.  So cheer up.  Writing his adjutant, pal of mine.  Coming over Saturday if get leave.  Going Shorncliffe if necessary.  Leave due.  Dam all right.  Will blow over.  Thanks for letting me help.”

“‘Fraid they don’ give no tick at the Telegraft Orfis, Sir,” observed Private Billings, who, as quondam “trained observer” of his troop, had noted the length of the telegram and the shortness of the allowance therefor.

“What the deuce...?”

“This is more like a ’alf-dollar job, Sir,” he groaned, waving the paper, “wot wiv’ the haddress an’ all.”

“Oh—­er—­yes, bit thick for a bob, perhaps; here’s half a sov....”

“That’s more like ‘’Eres to yer,’ Mr. D——­” remarked the good man—­outside the door.  “And don’t yer werry about trifles o’ chainge.  Be a gent!”