"It's damned hard lines
on you. But, at any rate, you can look upon this as your home for
as long as you like to stay."
"Thank you kindly, sir," said he.
I turned and beckoned to Betty and Marigold, who had been hovering
out of earshot by the house door. They approached.
"I want to have a word with Marigold," I said.
Tufton saluted and went off with Betty. Sergeant Marigold stood
stiff as a ramrod on the spot which Tufton had occupied.
"I suppose Mrs. Connor," said I, "has told you all about this poor
chap?"
"Yes, sir," said Marigold.
"We must put him up comfortably. That's quite simple. The only
thing that worries me is this--supposing his wife comes around
here raising Cain--?"
Marigold held me with his one glittering eye--an eye glittering
with the pride of the gunner and the pride (more chastened) of the
husband.
"You can leave all that, sir, to Mrs. Marigold. If she isn't more
than a match for any Grenadier Guardsman's wife, then I haven't
been married to her for the last twenty years."
Nothing more was to be said. Marigold marched the man off, leaving
me alone with Betty.
"I'm going to get in before Mrs. Marigold," she remarked, with a
smile.
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