‘Come to me before you go to bed,’ Nataly said, rising, her voice foundering; ‘Good-night, Dartrey.’

She turned to the door; she could not trust herself to shake hands with composure.  Not only was it a nauseous mixture she was forced to gulp from Victor, it burned like a poison.

‘Really Fredi’s doing—­chiefly,’ said Victor, as soon as Dartrey and he were alone, comfortably settled in the smoking-room.  ’I played the man of pomp with Marsett—­good heavy kind of creature:  attached to the woman.  She’s the better horse, as far as brains go.  Good enough Lady Marsett.  I harped on Major Worrell:  my daughter insulted.  He knew of it—­spoke of you properly.  The man offered all apologies; he has told the Major he is no gentleman, not a fit associate for gentlemen:—­quite so—­and has cut him dead.  Will marry her, as I said, make her as worthy as he can of the honour of my daughter’s acquaintance.  Rather comical grimace, when he vowed he’d fasten the tie.  He doesn’t like marriage.  But, he can’t give her up.  And she’s for patronizing the institution.  But she is ready to say good-bye to him “rather than see the truest lady in the world insulted”—­her words.  And so he swallows his dose for health, and looks a trifle sourish.  Antecedents, I suppose:  has to stomach them.  But if a man’s fond of a woman—­if he knows he saves her from slipping lower—­and it’s an awful world, for us to let a woman be under its wheels:—­I say, a woman who has a man to lean on, unless she’s as downright corrupt as two or three of the men we’ve known:—­upon my word, Dartrey, I come round to some of your ideas on these matters.  It’s this girl of mine, this wee bit of girl in her little nightshirt with the frill, astonishes me most:—­“thinking of the tops of the mountains at night!” She has positively done the whole of this work-main part.  I smiled when I left the house, to have to own our little Fredi starting us all on the road.  It seems, Marsett had sworn he would; amorous vow, you know; he never came nearer to doing it.  I hope it’s his better mind now; I do hope the man won’t have cause to regret it.  He speaks of Nesta—­sort of rustic tone of awe.  Mrs. Marsett has impressed him.  He expects the title soon, will leave the army—­the poor plucked British army, as you call it!—­and lead the life of a country squire:  hunting!  Well, it’s not only the army, it’s over Great Britain, with this infernal wealth of ours!—­and all for pleasure—­eh?—­or Paradise lost for a sugar plum!  Eh, Dartrey?  Upon my word, it appears to me, Esau’s the Englishman, Jacob the German, of these times.  I wonder old Colney hasn’t said it.  If we’re not plucked, as your regiments are of the officers who have learnt their work, we’re emasculated:—­the nation’s half made-up of the idle and the servants of the idle.’

’Ay, and your country squires and your manufacturers contrive to give the army a body of consumptive louts fit for nothing else than to take the shilling—­and not worth it,’ said Dartrey.