his waist, with great fortitude, and indeed sometimes looked half-stifled, in spite of his smile and his swagger.  Sturk, leaning at the window with his shoulders to the wall, beckoned Puddock gruffly, and cross-examined him in an undertone as to the issue of O’Flaherty’s case.  Of course he knew all about the duel, but the corps also knew that Sturk would not attend on the ground in any affair where the Royal Irish Artillery were concerned, and therefore they could bring what doctor they pleased to the field without an affront.

‘And see, my buck,’ said Sturk, winding up rather savagely with a sneer; ’you’ve got out of that scrape, you and your patient, by a piece of good luck that’s not like to happen twice over; so take my advice, and cut that leaf out of your—­your—­grandmother’s cookery book, and light your pipe with it.’

This slight way of treating both his book and his ancestors nettled little Puddock—­who never himself took a liberty, and expected similar treatment—­but he knew Sturk, the nature of the beast, and he only bowed grandly, and went to pay his respects to cowed, kindly, querulous little Mrs. Sturk, at the other end of the room.  An elderly gentleman, with a rather white face, a high forehead and grim look, was chatting briskly with her; and Puddock, the moment his eye lighted on the stranger, felt that there was something remarkable about him.  Taken in detail, indeed, he was insignificant.  He was dressed as quietly as the style of that day would allow, yet in his toilet, there was entire ease and even a latent air of fashion.  He wore his own hair; and though there was a little powder upon it and upon his coat collar, it was perfectly white, frizzed out a little at the sides, and gathered into a bag behind.  The stranger rose and bowed as Puddock approached the lady, and the lieutenant had a nearer view of his great white forehead—­his only good feature—­and the pair of silver spectacles that glimmered under it, and his small hooked nose and stern mouth.

‘’Tis a mean countenance,’ said the general, talking him over when the company had dispersed.

‘No countenance,’ said Miss Becky decisively, ’could be mean with such a forehead.’

The fact is—­if they had cared to analyse—­the features, taken separately, with that one exception, were insignificant; but the face was singular, with its strange pallor, its intellectual mastery, and sarcastic decision.

The general, who had accidentally omitted the ceremony—­in those days essential—­now strutted up to introduce them.

’Mr. Dangerfield, will you permit me to present my good friend and officer Lieutenant Puddock.  Lieutenant Puddock, Mr Dangerfield—­Mr. Dangerfield, Lieutenant Puddock.’

And there was a great deal of pretty bowing, and each was the other’s ‘most obedient,’ and declared himself honoured; and the conventional parenthesis ended, things returned to their former course.