Only
General Bishop, recognising him, arose and grasped his hand, with a
real, though rather fussy, warmth.
"My dear sir," he cried, "I am honoured to see you again. This, my
dear," he addressed his wife, "is the young man I was telling you
about--in the street car," he explained.
"How very interesting," said Mrs. Bishop, with evidently no
comprehension and less interest.
Gerald Bishop cast an ironically amused glance across at Orde. The
boy looked up at him quickly, the sullenness for a moment gone from
his face.
Carroll Bishop appeared quite unconscious of an atmosphere which
seemed to Orde strained, but sank into her place at the table and
unfolded her napkin. The silent butler drew forward a chair for
Orde, and stood looking impassively in Mrs. Bishop's direction.
"You will have some breakfast with us?" she inquired. "No? A cup
of coffee, at least?"
She began to manipulate the coffee pot, without paying the slightest
attention to Orde's disclaimer. The general puffed out his cheeks,
and coughed a bit in embarrassment.
"A good cup of coffee is never amiss to an old campaigner," he said
to Orde. "It's as good as a full meal in a pinch. I remember when
I was a major in the Eleventh, down near the City of Mexico, in '48,
the time Hardy's command was so nearly wiped out by that viaduct--"
He half turned toward Orde, his face lighting up, his fingers
reaching for the fork with which, after the custom of old soldiers,
to trace the chart of his reminiscences.
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