The Real Charlotte. 149 



HawTcins subsided into a dignified silence, which Cursiter, 

 as was his wont, did not attempt to break. He fell into 

 meditation on the drift of what had been said to him, and 

 thought that he would write to Greer (Greer was the ad- 

 jutant), and see about getting Hawkins away from Lismoyle; 

 and he was doing so well here, he grumbled mentally, and 

 getting so handy in the launch. If only this infernal Fitz- 

 patrick girl would have stayed with her cads in Dublin 

 everything would have been as right as rain. There was no 

 other woman here that signified except Miss Dysart, and it 

 didn't seem hkely she'd look at him, though you never 

 could tell what a woman would or would not do. 



Captain Cursiter was "getting on," as captains go, and he 

 was the less disposed to regard his junior's love affairs with 

 an indulgent eye, in that he had himself served a long and 

 difficult apprenticeship in such matters, and did not feel 

 that he had profited much by his experiences. It had 

 happened to him at an early age to enter ecstatically into 

 the house of bondage, and in it he had remained with eyes 

 gradually opening to its drawbacks, until, a few years before, 

 the death of the only apparent obstacle to his happiness had 

 brought him face to face with its realisation. Strange to 

 say, when this supreme moment arrived, Captain Cursiter 

 was disposed for further delay ; but it shows the contrariety 

 of human nature, that when he found himself superseded by 

 his own subaltern, an habitually inebriated viscount, instead 

 of feeling grateful to his preserver, he committed the im- 

 becility of horse-whipping him ; and finding it subsequently 

 advisable to leave his regiment, he exchanged into the in- 

 fantry with a settled conviction that all women were liars. 



The coach-house at Bruff, though not apparently adapted 

 for theatrical purposes, had been for many years compelled 

 to that use by Garry Dysart, and when, at half-past nine 

 o'clock that night, Lady Dysart and her guests proceeded 

 thither, they found that it had been arranged to the best 

 possible advantage. The seats were few, and the carriages, 

 ranging from an ancestral yellow chariot to Pamela's pony- 

 trap, were drawn up for the use of the rest of the audience. 

 A dozen or so of the workmen and farm labourers lined the 

 walls in respectful silence ; and the servants of the house- 

 hold were divided between the outside car and the chariot 



