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.
"I'm off now to interview Madam Tufton and bring back her husband's kit." In some ways it is a pity Betty isn't a man.

She would make a splendid soldier.