“Oh, well,” said Mrs. Fortescue, touching the harpstrings, “If you are fomenting a love affair between Anita at Fort Blizzard and Broussard in the tropics, it is your affair.”

“Elizabeth,” said the Colonel, “I am not a person to foment love affairs, or any other private and personal affairs.”

“I said if you were fomenting a love affair, John,” replied Mrs. Fortescue; and then there was no more music from the harp, the Colonel going into his office and Mrs. Fortescue to the After-Clap’s nursery.

In her own little room Anita was already hard at work on her letter to Broussard.  It was a very short and simple letter, telling exactly, and only, what Mrs. Lawrence had asked, and it was signed “Sincerely Yours.”  But when it was to be sealed Anita’s insurgent heart cried out to be heard, and she added a little postscript, which read: 

“Gamechick is very well and sends his love.  I ride him nearly every day.”

Anita would not trust her precious letter to the mail orderly, or even Sergeant McGillicuddy or Kettle, but throwing her crimson mantle around her, she slipped out, in the cold mist, to the letter box.  For one moment she held the letter poised in her hand before it took its flight toward the tropics; Anita’s tender heart went with the letter.

A fortnight later, the March sun having come in place of the February snows, Mrs. McGillicuddy succeeded in dragging Mrs. Lawrence out of doors, one day about noon, and after placing her on a bench in the glow of the light, went off to look after the eight McGillicuddys, the little Lawrence boy, and the After-Clap, none of whom could have got on without her.  Colonel Fortescue, coming out of the headquarters building, and going to his own house, passed Mrs. Lawrence, sitting on the bench.  The Colonel, who knew her well enough by sight, raised his cap and, stopping a moment, asked courteously after her health.

“I am better,” replied Mrs. Lawrence, “and I want to thank you for your kindness in letting me stay in the quarters.  I will not trespass any longer than I can help.”

“May I ask,” said the Colonel, kindly, “if you have any friends with whom I could help you to communicate?”

Mrs. Lawrence smiled as she answered: 

“I have relatives, if that is what you mean.  But I do not care to communicate with them.  Please understand me that I do not, for a moment, admit that my husband is a deserter.”

“I wish I could think he was not,” said Colonel Fortescue, “but unfortunately, his misconduct——­”

Colonel Fortescue caught himself; he had done what he seldom did—­used the wrong word.  Mrs. Lawrence struggled feebly to her feet, the divine obstinacy of a loving woman shining in her melancholy eyes.

“Stop!” she cried, “I can’t allow any one, even the Colonel of the regiment, to disparage my husband before my face.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Colonel Fortescue, “I regret the word I used.”