Part 29 (2/2)
”I beg your pardon? What wasn't very nice of me?”
”Why, to hurt their feelings; and especially the Commandant's. He is a poor man; poor, and sensitive, and easily hurt.”
”You are talking to me in riddles, Miss Cara. I have done nothing at all to hurt the Commandant's feelings.”
”Not intentionally, of course. I told him--and I told the sergeant too--that I was sure you never meant to wound them. It would have been too cruel.”
”But,” protested the Lord Proprietor, ”I have done nothing, I tell you; nothing beyond presenting Sergeant Archelaus with--with an article of attire of which he stood badly in need. Miss Gabriel, some weeks ago, drew my attention to the state of the poor fellow's--er--wardrobe, and suggested that something might be done.”
”I thought so,” Vashti nodded. ”I dare say now,” she went on, after seeming to muse for a moment, ”you are one of those strong-minded men who find it hard to understand how sensible people can worry over what they put on their backs!”
”That happens to be a constant source of wonder with me,” he confessed; ”though for the life of me I can't tell how you came to guess it.”
”Never mind how I guessed it,” said Vashti, smiling. ”The point is, that you take this lofty and very scornful view of clothes, and yet you must have noticed that many men of your acquaintance--men otherwise sensible--take quite another; that in the city, for instance, a hard felt hat is not usually worn with a frock coat.”
”Granted,” said the Lord Proprietor; ”though I could never understand why.”
”And you have noticed that soldiers are even more particular; and the reason with them is perhaps a little more easily grasped. Their uniform is a symbol, so to speak. It stands for the service to which a good soldier should be devoted.”
”If you had seen that man's small-clothes!”
”Yes, I grant that Archelaus neglects his regimentals. But to neglect them, and to be willing to mix them up with civilian clothes, are two very different things. Perhaps you did not think of this?”
”Really, now,” answered Sir Caesar, ”I should not have supposed that it mattered what these men wore, in such an out-of-the-world spot.”
Vashti's eyes rested on him for a second or two, in a kind of wondering despair at his obtuseness. But she controlled herself to reply quite patiently:
”At any rate, it was wrong of me to encourage the men's resentment, and I came here this morning to beg your pardon.”
He acknowledged this with a bow, but stood silent for a moment, eyeing her.
”You are a relative of Major Vigoureux?” he asked, after a pause.
”No.”
”You are staying with him, I understand?”
”No.” Vashti shook her head, with a smile. ”But I very much want you to forgive me,” she went on; ”for I have another favour to ask you.”
Again he bowed slightly. ”You give my curiosity no rest, Miss Cara, and I perceive you mean to satisfy it only in your own way. As for the--er--incident we have been discussing, pray consider that--so far as you are concerned--I dismiss it.” He did so with a slight wave of the hand. ”You wish to ask me a favour?”
”I do. I came to plead with you; to say a word on behalf of Eli Tregarthen, your tenant on Saaron Island.”
The Lord Proprietor started. ”Are you at the bottom of that also?” he asked, angrily.
Vashti's eyes opened wide in astonishment.
”I beg your pardon?” she murmured. ”I do not understand.”
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