"It is a thousand pities, Cranfield, that these happy designs should
perish with their temporary use. Let me beg you to send a sketch of
them to Colonel Sturgeon, the head of your department. They should be
preserved among the draughts and plans of the engineer corps."
Cranfield was about to make angry answer, but Lady Mabel anticipated
him by saying: "doubtless, whenever Colonel Sturgeon has occasion to
turn monkish cloisters into ladies' bowers, it will save him a world
of trouble to avail himself of these designs."
At this moment dinner was announced. Colonel Bradshawe, resolving that
his juniors should not have Lady Mabel all to themselves, availed
himself of his right of precedence, to hand her into the room, and
seated himself at her right hand.
Full thirty guests occupied the space between her father's portly, but
martial figure, and her seat at the head of the table; and though,
Minerva-like in air and form, she presided there with exquisite grace,
she shrunk from this long array, and sought a kind of privacy in
devoting her attention, somewhat exclusively, to the senior colonel of
the brigade. Knowing how important a matter dining was in his
estimation, she soon made a conquest of him, by her judicious care in
supplying his wants, tickling his palate, and coinciding in his
tastes.
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