“It would be passed by Mister Brummel himself.”
“Then we are ready, are we? Au revoir, therefore, my estimable friend! Keep your spirits up, and don’t forge my name to a check in my absence!” With which piece of jocular raillery Captain Tuffton, the military lady-killer, swaggered out of the room, swinging the red-tasselled cane, and humming in well-modulated tenor a Spanish love song in very bad Spanish; but that didn’t matter, as nobody was any the wiser, and literally tripping into Watchbell Street, he approached the little white front door behind which were waiting three good people, preparing a most superb ambuscade for the insufferable captain to walk into, an ambuscade that was going to very effectually put an end to the military swagger of this scent-breathing officer. He rang the bell languidly, little thinking it a tocsin of battle and of sudden death.
XXXV
Scylla or Charybdis
Captain Tuffton could certainly not complain of his reception, for the lawyer was positively nervous in his endeavours to please, while Mrs. Whyllie, in her anxiety to let bygones be bygones, positively basked in the sunshine of his glory, and as to Imogene—well, she at least had the speedy satisfaction of knowing that her appearance had caused havoc in the heart of the lady-killer.
“And so you are back from India?” he said to the beautiful niece.
“So it appears, sir,” answered Imogene, with a roguish smile.
“Ah, yes. Of course it is only too obvious,” answered the military one, “for here you are, aren’t you now? It’s a beastly place out there, I suppose, now isn’t it? I never could abide elephants or snakes!”
“La, sir, then you must not venture there, for they abound most vastly,” answered Imogene. Mrs. Whyllie by this time was tittering behind her fan, and old Whyllie looked greatly troubled at the whole proceedings.
“A devilish climate, too, for the complexion, isn’t it?” stroking his smooth, weak chin.
“La, sir, indeed if you say that, I must take it as a poor compliment to myself.”
“Do not mistake me, I beg,” urged the officer, “for in your case the Indian sun has been most gentle. He has kissed you with a light hand—er—a light mouth, indeed. Lucky sun, lucky sun!”
“You are being vastly gentle with my complexion, sir, but I perceive you to be a most accomplished courtier and a turner of beautiful compliments.”
“Madam, I speak from my heart, I assure you.”
“Whoever heard of Captain Tuffton possessing one?” tittered Mrs. Whyllie.
“You wrong me, Madam, I assure you,” declared the glorious one with conviction. “My poor heart is too large for my scarlet tunic, I assure you. It was an empty shell this morning, I confess, but the beauty of your accomplished niece, which it has been drinking in with rapture, has filled that poor receptacle and made it swell and stretch with the very throes of deep emotion.”
“La, sir, how prettily you turn the English tongue! How the Indians would adore you, sir!”
“Pooh-pooh, indeed,” said Mrs. Whyllie with a great show of decorum, “you must not take for gospel what the captain says. He is a very prince of dandies; indeed, he is second only to the Regent and Mister Brummel in all manners of deportment. I never trust dandies myself entirely.”
“Oh, Madam, pray, pray, make me the exception.”
“No, Captain, for you are not only a dandy, but a soldier, and soldiers are another class I distrust.”
“Ah, Madam,” lisped the officer, “you are cruelty itself.”
“I cannot help it, my dear sir. Soldiers are not to be trusted, and well you know it. They walk about with gay apparel, appearing the most gentle of creatures, but we know how dangerous they are, aye, dangerous both morally and physically, with their minds full of most terrible conquests planned against poor women, and their pockets stuffed to the bursting point with explosives and weapons.”
“La, Madam, you are mistaken, upon my soul. Take my case now as an example: I came here, I confess it, with thoughts of conquest in my mind, but I am conquered, I am vanquished, I am beaten most damnably myself. The eyes of your niece have sown my very foundations with salt.”
“Indeed, sir, that’s bitter!” exclaimed Imogene, blushing.
“And as to the belief that soldiers—officers, that is—are loaded with explosives and weapons, why, pish! Madam, it is a fallacy, I assure you. We leave explosives to the sergeants and our weapons to our orderlies. It is not only most damnably dangerous to carry firearms on our person, but it is most damnably damaging to the set of one’s clothes. Indeed, I declare that the cream of the army would retire if carrying weapons was insisted upon.”
“And you mean to say, sir, that you, a captain, walk abroad in your uniform unarmed?”
“And with the place infested with French spies?” added Imogene, shuddering.
“Why, yes, Madam, I assure you it is so. When I walk abroad I rely entirely for my personal safety upon my tasselled cane, and I venture to suggest that I could put up a very pretty fight with it.”
“But it would not be of much service against pistols, would it, Captain?” asked Mrs. Whyllie.
“Perhaps not, Madam, but who would want to put a pistol to my head?”
“You must have many enemies surely, Captain,” suggested the old lady, “for are you not in command of the press gang?”
“Yes, and a poor job it is for an army officer,” said the soldier. “I take no interest in the sea at all, and the authorities are endeavouring to transfer me to the marine service.”
“The press gang does most cruel work, too, I hear,” went on the old lady.
“Well, you see, that really cannot be helped. Madam. War with France is a certain thing, and if our navy is not able to smash Napoleon on the sea—well, we shall not be able to sing ‘Rule Britannia’ any more, now shall we? And if young men won’t join the
