o'clock, and they were late. It was a curious
mixture of vehement expostulation and adornment.
The younger girl, with her hair down
on her shoulders, was excited, defiant, and timorous
by turns. Her sister had influence with
her, and on this night spoke warmly and almost
passionately. She walked up and down,
vehemently pleading for the cause she had at heart,
with quick gestures and kindling eye. She told
her she was a child, a baby, that should have its
toys, its rattles, and drums. She told her that it
was only a guilty, wicked nature, that would make
a plaything of a brave and honest man's heart.
She could have no heart herself; a point of view
that rather scared the gentler girl, whose cheeks
kindled in a sort of piteous protest at what she
said was a "cruel tyranny." But at half-past
eleven, when the elder girl came down to the
drawing-room, a sort of empress in her dress,
she spoke softly to her brother with a sort of
satisfaction, a communication, too, that was
received with moody satisfaction, as though it
was likely that all would be well before the
night was over. "The other," said the brother,
"will not be well enough to go out at night."

It looked a pretty little party. Careful selection
had been made, and but few had been
allowed to pass the wicket. "I might have had
the whole of our little city," was a speech the
host made many times that night, in many
quarters, and to many persons. "Indeed, you
cannot conceive the pressure that was put on
me to get to our poor little party. It is
astonishing the lengths people will go. But we
made up our minds, Mrs. Carter and myself,
&c." He was part of the lighting himself, and
his clear, clean face flashed out in all quarters
of the room at unexpected moments during the
whole night. There was Mrs. Carter also
present, so quiet, so silent, so timorous, so swept
along in the breezes of her husband's conversation,
that the company regarded her no more
than they did a cheap china figure which was on
the chimney-piece. She was timid and mouse-
like in voice and manner, and when sometimes
she would glide out nervously over the carpet
to perform some duties of reception, her
husband, who seemed to dislike such exhibition,
would be down upon her in a gust, and swallow
her up in a tempest of words.

Fermor arrived very late, and in a sort of
agitation. He felt there was something for him
to go through that night, though he did not
know what. Looking in a little glass below,
where his hat was taken, he thought his face
had all the delicacy of Sèvres. The stairs were
narrow, and the house offended with the strong
fresh savour of new paint and varnish. He
was relieved when he saw the blaze of light in
the little rooms, and then his name was sang
according to the due ritual, and Major Carter
at the other end of the room "going about,"
came down on him affectionately. It was so
good of him to look in on a little thing of this
kind, to come in this sort of way. He was
ashamed to put people in a little cabin of this
kind. "I know you are laughing at me,
Captain Fermor," continued the major. "You have
your pencil out, and jotting down notes for a
friend or two——O, you see, I have heard. Do
let me off this time."

Fermor smiled.

"Introduce you to anybody?" said the major,
doubtfully; then answering himself, after
consulting Fermor's face, "No, no! scarcely.
You are more at home in this place than I am."

"Thanks, thanks," said Fermor, moving
away. "I think I see a few that I know. I
shall get on very well. Thanks."

The major had again hoisted his mainsail and
was away, making the opposite corner. Fermor
saw there was a border of tulle round the room,
with an inner ring of black cloth, and men.
scattered irregularly, like sentries.

Close beside him was a sort of little gipsy
encampment, the gipsies of which (though they
did not wear red cloaks, and had no "fire or
kettle) were two pretty girls, whom Fermor
knew to be Miss Campbells, Jessie and Fanny.
They were about the same height, only one
seemed to have a sort of an Arabian, or flashing
racer air; the other was more after the
pattern of a quiet, demure Shetland pony, yet
both, under these disguises, had equal spirit.
They were well known to the gentlemen of the
army, who, when they had to leave, took away
with them the tradition of the "Campbell
girls," handed it on to other "fellows" (like
a fiery cross), who in their turn passed it
forward to other "fellows" again, whom luck or
fortune brought back to that quarter. Thus,
where there was a barrack or a mess-table, their
names were familiar. They were social
vivandières, and they had little red books published
once a month by authority of the War-office,
which they read far more devoutly than they
did other pious books. Yet ill-natured voices
were heard to whisper the low, vulgar description,
"garrison hacks!" Fermor had often
studied, and sarcastically described, their devotion
to the service. They knew every soldier
there—dealt with them with an air of proprietorship—
gave them orders. Wherever there was
a "Campbell girl," there was a picket of military,
with the oddest names, posted about them.
There was Mr. Tite, and Mr. Crowe, and Mr.
Cadby, Captain Lockit, and Major Peachum.
If there were a party in a house, and a sheltered
nook on the stairs of that house, the curious
explorer would awkwardly stumble on a pair
concealed behind a curtain. If any one gave an
al fresco party, and there was a retired walk or
arbour associated with that al fresco party, a
soldier and a "Campbell girl" were certain to
be made out as figures in that rustic passage.
These are, indeed, only Captain Fermor's
observations, who made them a study as he would
natural history, and was often sarcastic on it.

As he entered, they were camped to the left,
with Sturt, Peachum, Lockit, and others, round
the camp kettle. There was an air of proprietorship
about the girls, with an air, too, of
separation from the rest of the society, which
was always part of the Campbell tactics.