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Even his eyes could see how much more thought had been expended upon the invalid's toilet than upon her daughter's, of which the most that could be said was that it was neat as any village girl's might be. Mrs. Verschoyle received the stranger with the simple courtesy of good breeding.
"Well, I had a delicacy about brigading myself with a colonel at the head of his regiment, so I stayed with the rear company and the horses. It's all too wonderful for any words. What's going to happen next?" "I've handed over to Verschoyle, who will amuse and edify the school children while I take you round our kindergarten. Don't kill any one, Vee. Are you goin' to charge 'em?"
"Fall 'em all in on the platform, march'em to the gangways," I answered, "and trust to Heaven and a fatigue party to gather the baggage and drunks in later." "Ye-es, and have half of it sent by the wrong trooper. I know that game," Verschoyle drawled. "We don't play it any more. Look!"
I saw six companies drawn up for inspection behind lines of long sausage- shaped kit-bags. A band welcomed us with "A Life on the Ocean Wave." "What cheek!" muttered Verschoyle. "Give 'em beans, Bayley." "I intend to," said the Colonel, grimly. "Will each of you fellows take a company, please, and inspect 'em faithfully. 'En etat de partir' is their little boast, remember.
On the morrow Margaret Verschoyle was to be his wife, and they were to go direct to his beautiful Devonshire home for the purpose of comfortably installing her mother there, before setting forth on the tour. Mrs. Verschoyle's health had wonderfully improved with the knowledge of her children's bright prospects; and wonders were expected from the soft Devonshire air.
It keeps the mass of the men between twenty-five, say, and thirty-five moderately fit, and gives the Armity an excuse for having more equipment ready in case of emergencies." "I don't think you're quite fair on the Militia," drawled Verschoyle. "They're better than we give 'em credit for. Don't you remember the Middle Moor Collieries' strike?" "Tell me," I said quickly. Evidently the others knew.
What was Verschoyle doing? living upon the small property, farming the land; or had he, as he had sometimes talked of doing, gone in for literature, and carried his wares to the London market? At that time his wares had appeared to Allan Meredith likely to be worth a great deal; but, with his three years' added knowledge and experience, he was now inclined to estimate them somewhat differently.
"Very good, Sir. Colour-sergeants!" cried Verschoyle, raising his voice, and the cry ran from company to company. Whereupon the officers left their men, people began to climb over the railings, and the regiment dissolved among the spectators and the school corps of the city. "No sense keeping men standing when you don't need 'em," said Bayley.
"I have not seen your brother since we left Oxford, Miss Verschoyle. Your only brother, is he not?" "Yes; and I am his only sister. My mother, Laurence, and I live at the Priory." "Mrs. Verschoyle is well, I hope?" with suddenly developed interest in everything that concerned her. "My mother is not worse, I am glad to say, than she has been the last five years. She is always an invalid."
The companies stooped to the stuffed kit-bags, doubled with them variously, piled them in squares and mounds, passed them from shoulder to shoulder like buckets at a fire, and repeated the evolution. "What's the idea?" I asked of Verschoyle, who, arms folded behind him, was controlling the display. Many women had descended from the carriages, and were pressing in about us admiringly.
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