part, you know, and nothing to
do. Potts suggested military races, and we all caught at it. And--and I
didn't have much luck, you know," winds up Luttrell, ingenuously.

"I don't like that young man," says Molly, severely. "You are always
talking of him, and he is my idea of a ne'er-do-weel. Your Mr. Potts
seems never to be out of mischief. He is the head and front of every
offense."

"Are you talking of Potts?" says her lover, in grieved amazement. "A
better fellow never stepped. Nothing underhand about Potts. When you
see him you will agree with me."

"I will not. I can see him in my mind's eye already. I know he is tall,
and dark, and insinuating, and, in fact, a Mephistopheles."

Luttrell roars.

"Oh, if you could but see Potts!" he says. "He is the best fellow in
the world, but---- He ought to be called Rufus: his hair is red, his
face is red, his nose is red, he is all red," finishes Tedcastle, with
a keen enjoyment of his friend's misfortunes.

"Poor man," kindly; "I forgive him his small sins; he must be
sufficiently punished by his ugliness. Did you like being in India?"

"Pretty well. At times it was rather slow, and our regiment has somehow
gone to the dogs of late. No end of underbred fellows have joined, with
quite too much the linen-draper about them to be tolerated."

"How sad! Your candor amazes me. I thought every soldier made it a
point to be enthusiastic over his brother soldiers, whether by being so
he lied or not."

"Then look upon me as an exception. The fact is, I grew rather
discontented about three years ago when my greatest chum sold out and
got married. You have no idea how lost a fellow feels when that
happens. But for Potts I might have succumbed."

"Potts! what a sweet name it is!" says Molly, mischievously.

"What's in a name?" with a laugh. "He was generally called Mrs.
Luttrell, we were so much together: so his own didn't matter. But I
missed Penthony Stafford awfully."

"And Mrs. Penthony, did you like her?"

"Lady Stafford, you mean? Penthony is a baronet. Yes, I like her
immensely, and the whole affair was so peculiar. You won't believe me
when I tell you that, though they have now been married for three
years, her husband has never seen her."

"But that would be impossible."

"It is a fact for all that. Shall I tell you the story? Most people
know it by this, I think: so I am breaking no faith by telling it to
you."

"Never mind whether you are or not," says Mol