For a fortnight before Christmas the practice rides took place every afternoon in the great riding hall, in which four troops of cavalry could manoeuvre.

As the daughter of the C. O., Anita, with Broussard, was to lead the girl riders and their cavaliers.  Broussard called punctually at the Colonel’s quarters for Anita, on the red December afternoons, when the air was like champagne and Broussard felt as if his veins ran wine instead of blood.  The After-Clap, under Kettle’s secret instructions, became valuable ally of Broussard’s.  Kettle managed that the baby’s afternoon ride in his wicker carriage should coincide with Broussard’s arrival.  The dark-eyed baby, in his little white fur coat and cap and white fur blanket, looked like a snowdrop by the side of Kettle, who, except his shiny teeth, was so black it seemed as if he had been coated with shoe polish.  The After-Clap always hailed Broussard with a vigorous shout of “Bruvver!  Bruvver!” and Kettle invariably explained: 

“He’s a-tryin’ to say ‘Mr. Boosard.’”

At this Broussard would laugh and agree with Kettle that the After-Clap was the knowingest baby in the world, and Anita would blush beautifully.  Colonel Fortescue’s heart sank when he saw Broussard and Anita walking off together; Broussard so trim and soldierly in his riding uniform and Anita so amazingly pretty in her blue habit and cap, cunningly imitating the cavalry uniform, a fetching dress adopted by all the young ladies who were to take part in the music ride.

The drill and ride were to begin at eight o’clock on Christmas Eve, and afterward there was to be a big ball, for at Fort Blizzard the young girls and young officers ended everything with a ball, where they could “chase the glowing hours with flying feet.”

A great silver moon and a mighty host of palpitating stars put the electric lights to shame on Christmas Eve.  When Broussard called for Anita, a little before eight, she was waiting, already dressed in the pretty imitation of an officer’s uniform—­a costume that would make even a plain girl enchanting, and how much more so the violet-eyed Anita?  Mrs. Fortescue, in a beautiful ball gown, looked quite as handsome as her daughter.  The regimental tailor had been busy all day letting out Colonel Fortescue’s full dress uniform and the Colonel fondly hoped that a couple of inches he had gained in girth were concealed by the tailor’s art.  But Mrs. Fortescue’s quick eye discerned it.

“I declare, Jack,” she cried, showing off her own figure, as slim as a girl’s, “I shall have to put you on a diet of lemon juice and slate pencils if you keep on getting stout!”

At which the Colonel glowered darkly and Anita, putting her arms about his neck, whispered: 

“Never mind, dear, darling daddy, I love you just the same.”

[Illustration:  “Never mind, dear, darling daddy, I love you just the same.”]

Mrs. Fortescue, who would have been affable to the Evil One himself, smiled at Broussard.  The Colonel was polite but not effusive, having developed a rooted dislike to junior unmarried officers as soon as he found out that Anita had to grow up, like other human beings.