"Ah! there you had him."
"I told him it was unworthy of him to abuse a gallant, a magnificent profession. I told him there's no type so fine as that of the soldier doing his duty."
"That's essentially your type, my dear boy." Young Lechmere blushed; he couldn't make out (and the danger was naturally unexpected to him) whether at that moment he didn't exist mainly for the recreation of his friend. But he was partly reassured by the genial way this friend continued, laying a hand on his shoulder: "Keep at him that way! we may do something. I'm extremely obliged to you." Another doubt, however, remained unassuaged—a doubt which led him to exclaim to Mr. Coyle, before they dropped the painful subject,
"He doesn't care! But it's awfully odd he shouldn't!"
"So it is; but remember what you said this afternoon—I mean about your not advising people to make insinuations to you."
"I believe I should knock a fellow down!" said young Lechmere. Mr. Coyle had got up; the conversation had taken place while
