desired answer. The
General was "at home," and would be pleased to receive Miss and Mr
Trevor forthwith.

CHAPTER TEN.

THE GENERAL'S STORY.

Jill stepped forward, tossing her head, as though to imply that there
had never been any doubt about her welcome, and Jack followed closely
behind, while the servant led the way down two long passages running at
right angles to each other, and threw open a door at the end, announcing
the visitors' names in stentorian tones.

A strong whiff of cigar smoke filled the air, and there sat the General
on a crimson velvet arm-chair, which was hardly redder than his own
complexion. His protruding eyes looked as glassy as ever, and his grey
locks were ruffled at the top until he bore a ludicrous likeness to a
paroquet. He held the crumpled card in his hand, and greeted his
visitors with a chuckle of amusement.

"Well, sir. Well, ma'am--`kind enquiries,' eh? Come to see how the
poor old man is faring after his fall?"

"Yes! We wanted to know. We thought it would be polite, as we were the
un--er--unwitting causers of your accident."

Jill brought out the right word with fine effect, whereupon the General
made great play with his outstanding tufts of eyebrow, pretending to
frown, and look ferocious.

"Un--witting, indeed! If that is your idea of unwitting, I should like
to know how you would define deliberate intent! I'll forgive you this
time, but let me catch you at any of your tricks again, and the fat will
be in the fire! Sit down--sit down. It's not often an old bachelor
like myself has the honour of entertaining a young lady visitor. No man
has had better friends, or more of them, than Terence Digby, but there
are precious few remaining nowadays. I've left them behind me in many a
lonely grave, without a stick or stone to show the resting-place of some
of the bravest fellows the world has ever known. It's lonely work to
outlive one's best friends."

"Have you been in many wars, sir?" asked Jack, quick to scent a story of
adventure. He dropped his hat on the floor and wriggled back in his
chair, the rebellious locks of hair which his sisters christened
"Cetewayo," after the Zulu chief, sticking up rampantly at the back of
his head. "Have you been in any real, proper wars?"

"I should think I have, sir. Many wars, and tough and serious wars at
that, though a whipper-snapper like you would not know their names, and
the English newspapers sandwich the news