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Her eyes danced, her brows arched. "Haven't you got"--she hid her smile with an embroidered handkerchief--"haven't you got your second figure upside down?" I glared, but with one look of hurt sisterliness she melted me. Then, pensive just long enough to say, "I was nineteen once," she shot me a sidelong glance so roguish that I was dumb with indignation and tried to find my mustache, forgetting I had shaved it off to stimulate it. She smiled in sweet propitiation and then came gravely to business. "Have you come from beyond the pickets?"

"What's the name, General, of the man whose house I'm to go to?"

"I don't believe you! I don't believe you ever had cause for one!" She laid a hand again upon mine.

I could not speak, I shook my head, and for evidence in rebuttal I showed in my eyes two fountains of standing tears.

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