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A moment he stared at me in perplexity, and then with a dab of his spur forced the black horse he rode against the ropes. "Damn me if I knew you, Fortesque," he exclaimed cordially. "But come on through; there's a gate yonder. Fall back now, lads, and let the officer pass. That's it; ride 'em down if they won't make way. Here's a spot where you can see the whole field from the saddle."
"Would Lieutenant Fortesque spare me a moment after I have found the lady a seat?" he questioned politely. "Gladly, if you do not keep me waiting too long." "Then there will be no delay. Shall we say the parlor below?" I bowed, conscious of the mute appeal in the lady's face, yet with no excuse for refusal. "As well there as anywhere, sir."
I felt the restraining pressure of her hand upon my sleeve, and her voice replied calmly, before I succeeded in finding words. "This is the gentleman who protected me from the mob, if that be what you mean. Permit me to present Captain Grant of the Queen's Rangers, Lieutenant pardon my having already forgotten your name." "Fortesque," I stammered, intensely hating the necessary deception.
Setting forth the condition and pursuits of law-students in his day, Sir John Fortesque continues; "For in these greater inns, there can no student bee mayntayned for lesse expenses by the yeare than twentye markes. And if hee have a servaunt to wait uppon him, as most of them have, then so much the greater will his charges bee.
That is Captain André there with O'Hara." He waved his hand, and the younger officer lifted his cocked hat in acknowledgment. "Let us spur over there, Lieutenant, until I get you a ticket of invitation." I followed, careless of the loss of time so I could both see and hear. "André, this is Lieutenant Fortesque just in from New York with despatches for Howe.
So they came around to see her the other day. That Mr. Gray we saw at the studio had just sent for Jennie, and so she told them to go around and see him. Yes! Just think! 'Lola Montague' and 'Marie Fortesque'! Say! Aren't those names the limit?" But Nan considered the matter too serious to joke about. "I am afraid that Sallie and Celia must be about to their limit," she said. "Poor Mrs. Morton!
"Ah, yes Lieutenant Fortesque, of the 42nd British Foot." We bowed coldly, neither extending a hand, the Captain twisting his moustache as he continued staring at me. "Fortesque," he repeated slowly. "Fortesque; not of this garrison, I believe." "No, from New York," coolly. "I regret having interfered with your programme."
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