The moment the carriage-door was opened, he called the
servant by his name, saying,
"When the cart comes with the luggage, send mine up directly. Take
that now."
And he handed him his dressing-bag.
He spoke in a self-approving tone, and with a drawl which I will not
attempt to imitate, because I find all such imitation tends to
caricature; and I want to be believed. Besides, I find the production
of caricature has unfailingly a bad moral reaction upon myself. I
daresay it is not so with others, but with that I have nothing to do:
it is one of my weaknesses.
My worthy old friend, the colonel, met us in the hall--straight,
broad-shouldered, and tall, with a severe military expression
underlying the genuine hospitality of his countenance, as if he could
not get rid of a sense of duty even when doing what he liked best.
The door of the dining-room was partly open, and from it came the red
glow of a splendid fire, the chink of encountering glass and metal,
and, best of all, the pop of a cork.
"Would you like to go up-stairs, Smith, or will you have a glass of
wine first?--How do you do, Percy?"
"Thank you; I'll go to my room at once," I said.
"You'll find a fire there, I know. Having no regiment now, I look
after my servants.
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