"A good cup of coffee is never amiss to an old campaigner," he said
to Orde. "It's as good as a full meal in a pinch. I remember when
I was a major in the Eleventh, down near the City of Mexico, in '48,
the time Hardy's command was so nearly wiped out by that viaduct--"
He half turned toward Orde, his face lighting up, his fingers
reaching for the fork with which, after the custom of old soldiers,
to trace the chart of his reminiscences.

Mrs. Bishop rattled her cup and saucer with an uncontrollably
nervous jerk of her slender body. For some moments she had awaited
a chance to get the general's attention. "Spare us, father," she
said brusquely. "Will you have another cup of coffee?"

The old gentleman, arrested in mid-career, swallowed, looked a
trifle bewildered, but subsided meekly.

"No, thank you, my dear," said he, and went furiously at his
breakfast.

Orde, overwhelmed by embarrassment, discovered that none of the
others had paid the incident the slightest attention. Only on the
lips of Gerald Bishop he surprised a fine, detached smile.

At this moment the butler entered bearing the mail. Mrs. Bishop
tore hers open rapidly, dropping the mangled envelopes at her side.
The contents of one seemed to vex her.

"Oh!" she cried aloud. "That miserable Marie! She promised me to
have it done to-day, and now she puts it off until Monday. It's too