Dr. Musgrave's incredulous remarks were addressed to Provost-Sergeant Hopgood, the non-com. in charge of the guardroom, who, reclining in an easy chair in the former's combined study and consulting-room on this September evening, was regarding his host somewhat lugubriously through a blue haze of cigar smoke.
"No pipe-dream at all ... kind of wish it was," he answered, with a slight trace of bitterness in his tones. "'Twas Churchill wised _me_ up. He was in from Sabbano today. Appears Ben's been rushing this girl--or woman, I should say--she's near thirty, I understand--for quite a time, now."
Musgrave's air of surprise was slowly succeeded by one of unwilling conviction.
"Well, I'll be----!" he muttered. "I might have tumbled, too!"
"Why, what's up?" said Hopgood eagerly, staring at him now with wide-eyed wonder. "You knew about it all the time, eh? Did Ben tell you? Have you seen her? What's she like?"
Musgrave knocked the ash off his cigar and gazed reflectively out of the open window.
"Think I have," he said. "I was walking down Eighth Avenue with him--day he was in town, last month. 'Hello!' he says, pulling up suddenly. 'Here's somebody I know from my district!' And, in that happy, casual, easy way he's got, he introduced me to a female acquaintance of his, who'd just come out of Black's jewelry store. She was a great big tall dark girl--finest figure of a woman I think I've ever seen. Regular whopper--not fat with it, either. Made you think of Boadicea, or Brittania, somehow, to look at her. She didn't strike me as being a beauty, exactly, but she'd got a nice kind face. Lots of fun in her, too, and a lady, unmistakably. I rather liked her. We stood there chatting a few minutes, and I remember she told me she was in town for a day or two, shopping. Never a peep from that old fox, Ben, though. You'd never have dreamt there was anything doing from the way he acted then. Everything was as casual as you please. Begad! I'll soak it to him for putting it over on me like this! That's if it _is_ right," he added, with a dubious smile. "Somehow, I can't credit it, though. Why, he's the very last man I'd have expected to go dangling after a woman!"
"Bet he don't do much dangling," remarked the Provost sagely. "Not if I know him. He ain't that kind. More'n likely it's the other way round. I've known quite a few women get struck on him. Queer beggar! he's never aloof, rude, or cold, but somehow--he just doesn't seem to _notice_ 'em at all. P'r'aps that's what gets 'em. Besides, he's a proper man to look at, and when he's penned in a corner with a woman with no chance of escape, he talks in that kind, simple way of his--you know his way, Charley."