“Certainly, madam,” answered Neroda, who, like everybody else, was anxious to do Mrs. Fortescue’s smiling bidding, “I am proud of the signorina’s playing.”

“Mr. Broussard is coming to the dinner,” continued Mrs. Fortescue after a moment.  “He sings so charmingly.  It would be delightful to have him sing and Anita to play a violin obligato.”

“Admirable!  Admirable!” cried Neroda, “Mr. Broussard has a superb voice—­much too good for an amateur.”

Mrs. Fortescue laughed; Broussard’s beautiful voice was one of the Colonel’s grave objections to him.  Anita remained silent, but Mrs. Fortescue noticed the happy smile on her lips, as she picked a little air upon the strings; she longed to show off her accomplishments before Broussard and to accompany his singing seemed a little incursion into Paradise.

It was arranged that Neroda should come at half-past nine and have the violin tuned.  Anita, dropping the violin, found a book of songs, some of which she had heard Broussard sing.

“Come,” she cried eagerly, “I must play these obligatos over.  You will sing the songs.”

Neroda sat down once more to the piano and played and sang in a queer, cracked voice, the songs, while Anita, her soul in her eyes and all her heart and strength in her bow arm, played the violin part.  She did it beautifully, and Mrs. Fortescue kissed the girl’s glowing cheek when the music was through.  Kettle, who was himself a fiddler, at that moment poked his head in at the door.  He had a fellow artist’s jealousy of Neroda but he was forced by his artistic conscience to say: 

“Lord, Miss ’Nita, you cert’ny kin make a fiddle talk!”

It was noon before the lesson was over and Neroda left.  Anita, exultant in the thought of playing to Broussard’s singing, could not remain indoors, but putting on her long, dark fur coat and her pretty fur cap, which accentuated her delicate beauty, went out for a walk alone.

Beyond the limits of the great post, was a long, straight promenade, bordered with stately young fir trees, and as it led to nowhere, was in general a solitary place.  It was here that Anita loved to walk alone.  The only objection to the place was that it gave upon the aviation field—­a place abhorred by all the women at the fort, from the Colonel’s lady down to the company laundresses.  Anita always turned her face away from the aviation field when she was walking under the pine trees.

The short way to the walk led by the big red brick barracks of the married soldiers.  Anita knew many of these soldiers’ wives, honest and hard-working women, doing their duty as if they were themselves soldiers.  As Anita passed along many of them, standing in their doorways or carrying laundry baskets along the street, gave her a kindly greeting.  In one doorway stood Mrs. Lawrence, tall, young, darkly beautiful, and looking as if she might have been a C. O.’s daughter instead of being a private