s
going out by herself to marry a young fellow up the country at
Umballa, I think. They were _fiances_, and on the way the news
came of the outbreak of cholera. So she got hung up for a while at
Penderfield's--sort of cousin, I believe, him or his wife--till the
district was sanitary again. Bad job for her, as it turned out! Nobody
there to warn her what sort of fellow Penderfield was--and if there
had been she wouldn't have believed 'em. She was a madcap sort of
a girl, and regularly in the hands of about as bad a couple as you'll
meet with in a long spell--India or anywhere! They used to say out
there that the she Penderfield winked at all her husband's affairs as
long as he didn't cut across _her_ little arrangements--did more than
wink, in fact--lent a helping hand; but only as long as she could rely
on his remaining detached, as you might say. The moment she suspected
an _entichement_ on her husband's part she was up in arms. And he
was just the same about her. I remember Lady Sharp saying that
if Penderfield had suspected his wife of caring about any of her
co-respondents he would have divorced her at once. They were a rum
couple, but their attitude to one another was the only good thing
about them." The General lighted his cigar, and seemed to consider
this was chapter one. The Major appended a foot-note, for our benefit.

"_Leave be_ was the word--the word for Penderfield. _You'll_
understand that, sir. No _meddlin'_! A good-lookin' Colonel's wife in
garrison has her choice, good Lard! Why, she's only got to hold her
finger up!" We entirely appreciated the position, and that a siren has
a much easier task in the entanglement of a confiding dragoon than
falls to the lot of Don Giovanni in the reverse case. But we were more
interested in the particular story of Mrs. Nightingale than in the
general ethics of profligacy.

"I suppose," we suggested, "that the young woman threatened to be a
formidable rival, as there was a row?" Each of the officers nodded at
the other, and said that was about it. The Major then started on
a little private curriculum of nods on his own account, backed by a
half-closed eye of superhuman subtlety, and added once or twice that
that _was_ about it. We inferred from this that the row had been
volcanic in character. The Major then added, repeating the air-sawing
action of his forefinger admonitorily, "But mind you, _I_ say nothin'.
And my recommendation to you is to say nothin' neither."