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"No, madam."

"We've got a letter for you from her!" exclaimed Camille.

"Smith," said the Colonel, and then smoked and smiled again till my brow beaded,--"tired?"

"One too modest," I murmured, "to know her own portrait." I clutched the braid emotionally and let it go intending to retake it; but she dropped it behind her and said I was too imaginative to be safe.

"Oh!--good-bye, just anybody?" I asked; and thereupon she gathered up all her misplaced trust in me, all her maiden ignorance of what is in man, and all her sweet daring, to murmur--

"How long have you belonged to Ferry's scouts?" sceptically demanded their spokesman.

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