‘Yes, dear Nan, a flirtation. —The general who gives an order for wholesale carnage never sleeps a wink the less soundly for the midnight groans of his victims, and we should deride him as a coward if he did. He saw her, dripping with rosy pearls, rise out of the lagoon in the dawn light: he saw her flashing to and fro among the coco palms in the moonshine: he saw her breasting the hurricane, her body as full of grace and beauty as the Winged Victory of the Louvre. What had happened to it? She had broken it, certainly. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair. Also, you must send someone to fetch my horse—at least, it is not mine but I have borrowed it to come here—because it will be dark very soon and—’ ‘Woof! Hold it, hold it,’ begged the sergeant. ” “I wonder,” he said, a trifle irrelevantly, “what the future has in store for you. ‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir.
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