Would he misunderstand, and think her unwomanly?

She trembled with the sudden doubt at the thought.

Besides, another, a prosperous young merchant back in Gridley, had been ardent in his attentions to Miss Bentley.

“Of course Laura sends her love,” broke in Greg promptly.  “Who wouldn’t, when the dear old fellow is in such a scrape?  And I’ll deliver the message of love from you both—–­and from Mrs. Bentley, too?”

Greg looked inquiringly, but expectantly at Laura’s mother, who nodded and smiled in ready sympathy.

Then Greg made his best soldier’s bow and hastened off to his chum, whose heart he succeeded in gladdening somewhat while the two made all haste to get ready for parade call.

When the corps marched on to the field that afternoon, Mrs. Bentley and the girls were there among the eager spectators.  Dick saw them almost instantly, and his heart bounded within him.  It was Laura’s mute message of sympathy and hope to him!  He held up his head higher, if that were possible, and went through every movement with even more than his usual precision.

As the corps was marching off the field again, however, Dick’s heart sank rapidly within him.

“If I have to leave the Army, I can never ask Laura for her love,” he groaned wretchedly.  “If I go from West Point as anything but a graduate and an officer, I shall have to start life all over again.  It will take me years to find my place and get solidly on my feet I could never ask a girl to wait as long as that!”

In the early evening Laura, Belle and Mrs. Bentley were on the veranda near the hotel entrance.  Cadets Jordan and Douglass made their appearance.  Jordan had obtained official permission to present Douglass to his sister, who was to go to the hop that evening.

“By Jove, there’s a spoony femme (pretty girl) over there,” breathed Jordan in Douglass’ ear.  “You don’t happen to know her, do you?”

“Why, yes, that’s Miss Bentley, and the other is Miss Meade.  The chaperon is Miss Bentley’s mother,” replied Cadet Douglass.

“You know them?” throbbed Jordan, his eyes resting eagerly on Laura’s face.  “What luck!  Present me, old chap!”

So Douglass, who, in some respects, had a bad memory, piloted his classmate over to the ladies and halted.

“Good evening, ladies,” greeted Douglass, raising his uniform cap in his most polished manner.  “Mrs. Bentley, Miss Bentley, Miss Meade, will you permit me to present my friend and classmate Mr. Jordan?”

Belle, who was nearest, bowed and held out her hand.

But Laura drew herself up haughtily.  “Mr. Douglass,” she answered coldly, “my apologies to you, but I don’t wish to know—–­Mr. Jordan!”

Belle caught the name again, and remembered.

“Oh!” she cried, snatching her hand away ere Jordan could touch it.

“I’m sorry, ladies,” stammered Douglass.  But they found themselves confronted by rear views of two shapely pairs of young shoulders, while Mrs. Bentley had the air of looking through the young men without being able to see either.