’ ‘Captain Roding, sir,’ put in Gerald, adding on a jocular note, ‘Another of the green whippersnappers you had to contend with some years back. Jove, he didn’t take to it kindly, I can tell you. . ’ She bit her lip, and then turning her face away, emitted another sigh. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. “That’s a weird name.
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