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They were nearly wild when that handsome scamp of theirs married her poor Beauty Beauvayse, of the Grey Hussars. He and she had kept house together; there was a kiddie coming; they said the little woman played her cards uncommonly well!... The marriage was pulled off on the quiet at a Registrar's a week or so before Beau got his appointment on the Staff.
" To blow me up and forgive me, turn and turn about, until daylight did appear. Luckily," reflects Bingo, with a rather dreary chuckle, "I had plenty of night-duty on just then, and so escaped a lot." "That gave her her chance to shoot the moon!" hints Beauvayse, in accents muffled by his long tumbler.
A rival! He laughed silently, grimly, remembering the resentful, jealous impulse that had prompted his interruption when the boyish, handsome face of Beauvayse had leaned so near to hers, and the blush that dyed her white-rose cheeks had answered, no doubt, to some hackneyed, stereotyped, garrison compliment.
"It is dark and stormy night." Beauvayse says, in the whispering voice interrupted by long, gasping sighs that are beginning to have a jarring rattle in them: "Before to-morrow.... I shall know more of God ... than the whole Bench of Bishops." There is silence. And she does not come.
"The man don't exist who objects to hear of the disqualifications, mental and physical, of a fellow who he's thought likely to enter the lists with him in the in the dispute for a woman's favour," says Beauvayse, with a pleasant air of candour. "And though the story sounds like a lie, as I've said, there's a possibility of its being the other thing.
We can't have our Medical Staff men on the sick-list." Some such commonplace words accompany the proffered hospitality. "I shall not suffer, thanks. You have a shell-casualty, you have 'phoned us, but before I see your man it is imperative that I should speak to Lord Beauvayse. Where is he?" "He is here." "My business with him is urgent, sir."
"I'm here, Lord Beauvayse." "I say, I'm going to rag you frightfully. Why on earth have you given us away in that beastly paper?" "Whom do you mean by 'us'?" "Well, me and Miss Mildare." "Didn't you tell me on Sunday that you were engaged?" she demanded indignantly. "I did." The answer came back haltingly. "And that you didn't care who knew it?" "Fact."
Take the advice of your seniors, as I was too pig-headed a fool to do, and don't put it in the power of any woman to make you as rottenly wretched as I am at this minute." "Why! women can make you rottenly wretched," admits Beauvayse, with a confirmatory creak of the bamboo chair. "But, on the other hand, they can make you awfully happy what?"
The golden hazel, dark-lashed eyes she shyly turned to his were full of exquisite, melting tenderness. Her lips parted to speak, and closed again. He leaned towards her hung over her, his own lips irresistibly attracted to those sweetest ones.... "Lord Beauvayse " she began, and stopped. He begged: "Please, not the duffing title, but 'Beauvayse' only. Tell me you love me.
From the moment I took the plunge, the consciousness of what a rotten ass I'd been had been growin' like a snowball. But on the voyage out" a change comes into the weary, level voice in which Beauvayse has told his story "I forgot to grouse, and by the time we'd lifted the Southern Cross I wasn't so much regretting what I'd done as wondering whether I should ever shoot myself because I'd done it?
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