twrne."

There was another explosion of what EMILY would have called
"mewrwriment," at this, for it was well-known to be one of the
gallant dragoon's most humorous efforts. A somewhat protracted silence
followed. FOOTLES, however, took it in both hands, and broke it with
no greater emotion than he would have shown if he had been called
upon to charge a whole squadron of Leicestershire Bullfinches, or
to command a Lord Mayor's escort on the 9th of November. Dear old
FOOTLES! He wasn't clever, no Purple Dragoon could be, but he wasn't
the biggest fool in the Service, like EMILY, and all the rest of them.
Still he loved another's.

In fact, whenever a Purple Dragoon fell in love, the object of his
affections immediately pretended to love someone else. Hard lines, but
soldiers were born to suffer. It is so easy, so true, so usual to say,
"there's another day to-morrow," but that never helped even a Purple
Dragoon to worry through to-day any the quicker. Poor, brave, noble,
drawling, manly, pipe-smoking fellows! On this particular occasion
FOOTLES uttered only one word. It was short, and began with the
fourth letter of the alphabet. But he may be pardoned, for some of the
glowing embers from his magnificent briar-wood pipe had dropped on to
his regulation overalls. The result was painful--to FOOTLES. All the
others laughed as well as they could, with clays, meerschaums, briars,
and asbestos pipes in their mouths. And through the thick cloud of
scented smoke the mess-waiter came into the room, bearing in his hand
a large registered letter, and coughing violently.

CHAPTER II.