perhaps uncles-in-law),
and like the kind Tailor whom the Haddock
advertises (and like the unkind Judge before whom
he'll some day come for something) I will 'give you
time'. But it's only a respite, Mr. de Warrenne.
You are not going to trifle with my young feelings
and escape altogether. I have my eye on you--and
if I respect your one-and-twopence a day _now_,
it is on the clear understanding that you share my
Little All on the day I come of age. I will trust
you once more, although you _have_ treated me so--bolting
and hiding from your confiding fiancee.

"So write and tell me what you call yourself, so
that I can write to you regularly and satisfy myself
that you are not escaping me again. How _could_
you treat a poor trusting female so--and then when
she had found you again, and was showing her delight
and begging to be married and settled in life--to
rush away from her, leaving her and her modest
matrimonial proposals scorned and rejected! For
shame, Sir! I've a good mind to come and complain
to your Colonel and ask him to make you keep
your solemn promises and marry me....

"Now look here, darling, nonsense aside--I
solemnly swear that if you don't buy yourself out of
the army on the day I come of age (or before, if
you will, and can) I will really come and make you
marry me and I will live with you as a soldier's wife.
If you persist in your wrong-headed notion of being
a 'disgrace' (_you_!) then we'll just adopt the army
as a career, and we'll go through all the phases till
you get a Commission. I hope you won't take this
course--but if you do, you'll be a second Hector
Macdonald and retire as Lieutenant-General Sir
Damocles de Warrenne (K.C.B., K.C.M.G.,
K.C.S.I., D.S.O., and, of course, V.C.), having
confessed to an _alias_. It will be a long time before
we should be in really congenial society, that way,
darling, but I'm sure I should enjoy every hour of
it with you, so long as I felt I was a comfort and
happiness to you. And when you got your Commission
I should not be a social drag upon you as
sometimes happens. Nor before it should I be a
nuisance and hindrance to you and make you wish
you were 'shut of the curse of a soldier'. I could
'rough it' as well as you and, besides, there would
_be_ no 'roughing it' where you were, for me. It is
_here_ that I am 'roughing it,' sitting impotent and
wonderin