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"Are you not a New Orleans boy?" she asked as I lifted my képi and drew rein.

I clenched my teeth. "I am nineteen, madam."

"I say we can't give it to you now," Miss Harper persisted, with a motherly smile; "we're wearing it ourselves. We've had no time to take it off. I couldn't get the boots off me last night. And even if you had the boots, the other things--"

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

"Nonsense!" muttered both men, and I liked them the better.

She became frigid. "Do you know who and what Charlotte Oliver is?--No? Well, to begin with, she's a married woman--but pshaw! you believe nothing till it's proved. If I tell you who and what I am will you do what I've asked you; will you promise not to stop at Lucius Oliver's house?" She softly reached for my hand and pressed and stroked it. "Don't stop there, dear. Oh, say you will not!"

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