hearty, and somehow the room and all in it felt the influence of his
presence like the glow, and cheer, and crackle of a bright Christmas
fire.

Miss Becky Chattesworth, very stately in a fine brocade, and a great
deal of point lace, received Puddock very loftily, and only touched his
hand with the tips of her fingers. It was plain he was not yet taken
into favour. When he entered the drawing-room, that handsome stranger,
with the large eyes, so wonderfully elegant and easy in the
puce-coloured cut velvet--Mr. Mervyn--was leaning upon the high back of
a chair, and talking agreeably, as it seemed, to Miss Gertrude. He had a
shake of the hand and a fashionable greeting from stout, dandified
Captain Cluffe, who was by no means so young as he would be supposed,
and made up industriously and braced what he called his waist, with
great fortitude, and indeed sometimes looked half-stifled, in spite of
his smile and his swagger. Sturk, leaning at the window with his
shoulders to the wall, beckoned Puddock gruffly, and cross-examined him
in an undertone as to the issue of O'Flaherty's case. Of course he knew
all about the duel, but the corps also knew that Sturk would not attend
on the ground in any affair where the Royal Irish Artillery were
concerned, and therefore they could bring what doctor they pleased to
the field without an affront.

'And see, my buck,' said Sturk, winding up rather savagely with a sneer;
'you've got out of that scrape, you and your _patient_, by a piece of
good luck that's not like to happen twice over; so take my advice, and
cut that leaf out of your--your--grandmother's cookery book, and light
your pipe with it.'

This slight way of treating both his book and his ancestors nettled
little Puddock--who never himself took a liberty, and expected similar
treatment--but he knew Sturk, the nature of the beast, and he only bowed
grandly, and went to pay his respects to cowed, kindly, querulous little
Mrs. Sturk, at the other end of the room. An elderly gentleman, with a
rather white face, a high forehead and grim look, was chatting briskly
with her; and Puddock, the moment his eye lighted on the stranger, felt
that there was something remarkable about him. Taken in detail, indeed,
he was insignificant. He was dressed as quietly as the style of that day
would allow, yet in his toilet, there was entire ease and even a latent
air of fashion. He wore his own hair; and though there was a little
powder upon it