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almost pleasing. "Good-bye, Smith, remember your failings."

"My dear madam, you don't realize ours. We don't want to imprison women."

At the door the Colonel gave me a last look. "Good-night, Legs."

The note of patriotism righted me and I looked a third time. The one art of dress worth knowing in '63 was to slight its fashions without offending them, and this pretty gift I had marked all day in the Harpers. But never have I seen it half so successful as in the veiled horsewoman illumined by the side-lights of those burning fence-rails. The white apparition at the veranda's edge gleamed in my mind, yet swiftly faded out, and a new fascination, more sudden than worthy heaved at my heart. Then the fire was behind us and we were in the deep night.

I laughed a gay disdain. "Who is Lucius; is he Charlotte's husband?"

"Coralie! Coralie Rothvelt!"--my cry was an honest one--"you tempt me beyond human endurance."

"No, it ain't too stinkin' polite."

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