“And Lucia,” she said at last, “will be so glad to see him again.  We knew him so well, you know, in Eaton Square years ago.”

“Really,” said Elsley, wincing, “I never met him there.”  He recollected that Lucia had expressed more pleasure at Major Campbell’s coming than even, at that of her brother; and a dark, undefined phantom entered his heart, which, though he would have been too proud to confess it to himself, was none other than jealousy.

“Oh—­did you not?  No; it was the year before we first knew you.  And we used to laugh at him together, behind his back, and christened him the wild Indian, because he was so gauche and shy.  He was a major in the Indian army then:  but a few months afterwards he sold out, went into the line—­no one could tell why, for he threw away very brilliant prospects, they say, and might have been a general by now, instead of a mere major still.  But he is so improved since then; he is like an elder brother to Scoutbush; guides him in everything.  I call him the blind man, and the major his dog!”

“So much the worse,” thought Elsley, who disliked the notion of Campbell’s having power over a man to whom he was indebted for his house-room:  but by this time they were at Mrs. Harvey’s door.

Mrs. Harvey opened it, curtseying to the very ground:  and Valencia ran upstairs, and knocked at the sitting-room door herself.

“Come in,” shouted a pre-occupied voice inside.

“Is that a proper way in which to address a lady, sir?” answered she, putting in her beautiful head.

Major Campbell was sitting, Elsley could see, in his shirt sleeves, cigar in mouth, bent over his microscope:  but instead of the unexpected prim voice, he heard a very gay and arch one answer, “Is that a proper way in which to come peeping into an old bachelor’s sanctuary, ma’am?  Go away this moment, till I make myself fit to be seen.”

Valencia shut the door again, laughing.

“You seem very intimate with Major Campbell,” said Elsley.

“Intimate?  I look on him as my father almost.  Now, may we come in?” said she, knocking again in pretty petulance.  “I want to introduce Mr. Vavasour.”

“I shall be only too happy,” said the Major, opening his door (this time with his coat on); “there are few persons in the world whom I have more wished to know than Mr. Vavasour.”  And he held out his hand, and quite led Elsley in.  He spoke in a tone of grave interest, looking intently at Elsley as he spoke.  Valencia remarked the interest—­Elsley only the compliment.

“It is a great kindness of you to call on me so soon,” said he.  “I met Mrs. Vavasour several times in years past; and though I saw very little of her, I saw enough to long much for the acquaintance of the man who has been worthy to become her husband.”

Elsley blushed, for his conscience smote him a little at that word “worthy,” and muttered some commonplace civility in return.  Valencia saw it, and attributing it to his usual awkwardness, drew off the conversation to herself.