After this, they walked on some distance in silence, she gazing wistfully upon the beauties of the familiar world about her while he watched the curl above her ear until she, becoming aware of it all at once, promptly sent it back into retirement, with a quick, deft little pat of her fingers.

“I hope,” said Bellew at last, “I do sincerely hope that you ‘tucked up’ my nephew safe in bed,—­you see—­”

“Your nephew, indeed!”

“Our nephew, then; I ask because he tells me that he can’t possibly sleep unless you go to ’tuck him up,’—­and I can quite believe it.”

“Do you know, Mr. Bellew, I’m growing quite jealous of you, he can’t move a step without you, and he is for ever talking, and lauding your numberless virtues!”

“But then—­I’m only an uncle, after all, and if he talks of me to you, he talks of you to me, all day long.”

“Oh, does he!”

“And, among other things, he told me that I ought to see you when your hair is down, and all about you.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Anthea.

“Indeed, our nephew is much luckier than I, because I never had an aunt of my own to come and ‘tuck me up’ at night with her hair hanging all about her—­like a beautiful cloak.  So, you see, I have no boyish recollections to go upon, but I think I can imagine—­”

“And what do you think of the Sergeant?” Anthea enquired, changing the subject abruptly.

“I like him so much that I am going to take him at his word, and call upon him at the first opportunity.”

“Did Aunt Priscilla tell you that he comes marching along regularly every day, at exactly the same hour?”

“Yes,—­to see how the peaches are getting on!” nodded Bellew.

“For such a very brave soldier he is a dreadful coward,” said Anthea, smiling, “it has taken him five years to screw up courage enough to tell her that she’s uncommonly young for her age.  And yet, I think it is just that diffidence that makes him so lovable.  And he is so simple, and so gentle—­in spite of all his war medals.  When I am moody, and cross, the very sight of him is enough to put me in humour again.”

“Has he never—­spoken to Miss Priscilla,—?”

“Never,—­though, of course, she knows, and has done from the very first.  I asked him once, why he had never told her what it was brought him so regularly,—­to look at the peaches,—­and he said, in his quick, sharp way:  ’Miss Anthea,—­can’t be done, mam,—­a poor, battered, old soldier,—­only one arm,—­no mam.’”

“I wonder if one could find just such another Sergeant outside Arcadia,” said Bellew, “I wonder!”