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"Oh, I wish I had noticed him!"

"Well, that might depend on who 'her' is." We had reached the cross-roads and he was turning south.

"Mine is Smith," I said, and we galloped.

Our acceptance was unanimous. I even decided not to inform Lieutenant Durand until after the repast, that ladies under my escort did not pick acquaintanceship with soldiers on the public highway. But before the brief meal was over I was wishing him hanged. Hang the heaven-high theories that had so lately put me in love with him! Hang his melodious voice, his modest composure, his gold-barred collar, his easy command of topics! Hang the women! they feasted on his every word and look! Ah, ladies! if I were mean enough to tell it--that man doesn't believe in hell! He has a down-dragging hunger for every base indulgence; he has told me so!

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I thought I did until I glanced at the superscription: Miss Coralie Rothvelt.

"Too warm?"

"You sa-ay 'Whah is it?'--ow batt'ry"--he champed noisily--"I dunno. Does you? Whah is it?"

"How did you make her acquaintance?" I ventured to ask.

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