er known.

As for money, I had my salary when it was convenient for Sir Peter; I
had a small income of my own, long pledged to Colonel Willett's secret
uses. It was understood that Sir Peter should find me in apparel; I had
credit at Sir Peter's tailor, and at his hatter's and bootmaker's, too.
Twice a year my father sent me from Paris a sum which was engaged to
maintain a bed or two in the Albany hospital for our soldiers. I make no
merit of it, for others gave more. So, it is plain to see I had no money
for those fashionable vices in the midst of which I lived, and if I lost
five shillings at whist I felt that I had robbed some wretched creature
on the _Jersey_, or dashed the cup from some poor devil's lips who lay
a-gasping in the city prison.

My finery, then, was part and parcel of my salary--my salary in guineas
already allotted; so it came about that I moved in a loose and cynical
society, untainted only through force of circumstance and a pride that
accepts nothing which it may not return at interest.

* * * * *

When I descended to the dining-room I found all seated, and so asked
pardon of Lady Coleville, who was gay and amiable as usual, and, "for a
penance," as she said, made me sit beside her. That was no penance, for
she was a beauty and a wit, her dainty head swimming with harmless
mischief; and besides knowing me as she did, she was monstrous amusing
in a daring yet delicate fashion, which she might not use with any
other save her husband.

That, as I say, was therefore no penance, but my punishment was to see
Elsin Grey far across the table on Sir Peter's right, and to find in my
other neighbor a lady whose sole delight in me was to alternately shock
me with broad pleasantries and torment me with my innocence.

[Illustration: My punishment was to see Elsin Grey far across the
table.]

Rosamund Barry was her name, Captain Barry's widow--he who fell at
Breeds Hill in '76--the face of a Madonna, and the wicked wit of a lady
whose name she bore, _sans La du_.

"Carus," she said, leaning too near me and waving her satin painted
fan, "is it true you have deserted me for a fairer conquest?"

"The rumor nails itself to the pillory," I said; "who is fairer than
you, Rosamund?"

"You beg the question," she said severely, the while her dark eyes
danced a devil's shadow dance; "if you dare go tiptoeing around the
skirts of the Hon. Miss Grey, I'll tell her all--_a