And turning to the company, he added:--

"My new aid-de-camp, Lieutenant Herbert, ladies. A fop--but an old
soldier. Take that seat by Colonel Surry, Tom."

And every one sat down, and attacked the supper.

I had shaken hands with Tom Herbert, who was far from being a stranger
to me, as I had met him frequently in the drawing-rooms of Richmond
before the war. He was a fop, but the most charming of fops, when I
first knew him. He wore brilliant waistcoats, variegated scarfs,
diamond studs, and straw-colored kid gloves. In his hand he used to
flourish an ivory-headed whalebone cane, and his boots were of feminine
delicacy and dimensions. Such was Tom at that time, but the war had
"brought him out." He had rushed into the ranks, shouldered a musket,
and fought bravely. So much I knew--and I was soon to hear how he had
come to be Stuart's aid.

The supper was charming. The young girls waited on us with mock
submission and delighted smiles. Tom and I had fallen to the lot of a
little princess with golden ringlets; and Miss Katy Dare--that was her
name--acquitted herself marvellously. We supped as though we expected
to eat nothing for the next week--and then having finished, we rose,
and waited in turn on the fair waiters.

Behind every chair now stood an officer in uniform.

Bright eyes, rosy cheeks, jewelled hands, glossy curls--there was the
picture, my dear reader, which we beheld as we "waited" at that magical