Mr. Beamish bowed.  ’You do but do me justice.  But, say, what interpretation?’

‘She began by fearing you,’ said Caseldy, creating a stare that was followed by a frown.  ’She fancies you neglect her.  Perhaps she has a woman’s suspicion that you do it to try her.’

Mr. Beamish frenetically cited his many occupations.  ’How can I be ever dancing attendance on her?’ Then he said, ‘Pooh,’ and tenderly fingered the ruffles of his wrist.  ‘Tush, tush,’ said he, ’no, no:  though if it came to a struggle between us, I might in the interests of my old friend, her lord, whom I have reasons for esteeming, interpose an influence that would make the exercise of my authority agreeable.  Hitherto I have seen no actual need of it, and I watch keenly.  Her eye has been on Colonel Poltermore once or twice his on her.  The woman is a rose in June, sir, and I forgive the whole world for looking—­and for longing too.  But I have observed nothing serious.’

‘He is of our party to the beacon-head to-morrow,’ said Caseldy.  ’She insisted that she would have him; and at least it will grant me furlough for an hour.’

‘Do me the service to report to me,’ said Mr. Beamish.

In this fashion he engaged Caseldy to supply him with inventions, and prepared himself to swallow them.  It was Poltermore and Poltermore, the Colonel here, the Colonel there until the chase grew so hot that Mr. Beamish could no longer listen to young Mr. Camwell’s fatiguing drone upon his one theme of the double-dealing of Chloe’s betrothed.  He became of her way of thinking, and treated the young gentleman almost as coldly as she.  In time he was ready to guess of his own acuteness that the ‘strange cavalier’ could have been no other than Colonel Poltermore.  When Caseldy hinted it, Mr. Beamish said, ‘I have marked him.’  He added, in highly self-satisfied style, ’With all your foreign training, my friend, you will learn that we English are not so far behind you in the art of unravelling an intrigue in the dark.’  To which Caseldy replied, that the Continental world had little to teach Mr. Beamish.

Poor Colonel Poltermore, as he came to be called, was clearly a victim of the sudden affability of Duchess Susan.  The transformation of a stiff military officer into a nimble Puck, a runner of errands and a sprightly attendant, could not pass without notice.  The first effect of her discriminating condescension on this unfortunate gentleman was to make him the champion of her claims to breeding.  She had it by nature, she was Nature’s great lady, he would protest to the noble dames of the circle he moved in; and they admitted that she was different in every way from a bourgeoise elevated by marriage to lofty rank:  she was not vulgar.  But they remained doubtful of the perfect simplicity of a young woman who worked such changes in men as to render one of the famous conquerors of the day her agitated humble servant.  By rapid degrees the Colonel had fallen