get a
loan on the faith of the reversion of my mother's estate. Heriot, like
the real friend he was, helped me with his name to the bond. When my
father stood free, I had the proudest heart alive; and as soon as we had
parted, the most amazed. For a long while, for years, the thought of him
was haunted by racketballs and bearded men in their shirtsleeves; a scene
sickening to one's pride. Yet it had grown impossible for me to think of
him without pride. I delighted to hear him. We were happy when we were
together. And, moreover, he swore to me on his honour, in Mrs. Waddy's
presence, that he and the constable would henceforth keep an even pace.
His exuberant cheerfulness and charming playfulness were always
fascinating. His visions of our glorious future enchained me. How it was
that something precious had gone out of my life, I could not comprehend.

Julia Rippenger's marriage with Captain Bulsted was, an agreeable
distraction. Unfortunately for my peace of mind, she went to the altar
poignantly pale. My aunt Dorothy settled the match. She had schemed it,
her silence and half-downcast look seemed to confess, for the sake of her
own repose, but neither to her nor to others did that come of it. I wrote
a plain warning of the approaching catastrophe to Heriot, and received
his reply after it was over, to this effect:

'In my regiment we have a tolerable knowledge of women. They like change,
old Richie, and we must be content to let them take their twenty
shillings for a sovereign. I myself prefer the Navy to the Army; I have
no right to complain. Once she swore one thing, now she has sworn
another. We will hope the lady will stick to her choice, and not seek
smaller change. "I could not forgive coppers"; that 's quoting your dad.
I have no wish to see the uxorious object, though you praise him. His
habit of falling under the table is middling old-fashioned; but she may
like him the better, or she may cure him. Whatever she is as a woman, she
was a very nice girl to enliven the atmosphere of the switch. I sometimes
look at a portrait I have of J. R., which, I fancy, Mrs. William Bulsted
has no right to demand of me; but supposing her husband thinks he has,
why then I must consult my brother officers. We want a war, old Richie,
and I wish you were sitting at our mess, and not mooning about girls and
women.'

I presumed from this that Heriot's passion for Julia was extinct. Aunt
Dorothy disapproved of his tone, which I tho