thought; he, himself, had something handsome besides his pay, but he had also a sensible father who held him down.  Broussard had too many motors, too many horses, too many dogs, too many clothes, too many fighting chickens, and, above all, was too intimate with a certain soldier, a gentleman-ranker who was disapproved, both of officer and man.  A gentleman-ranker is a man serving in the rank who might be an officer.  This one, Lawrence by name, was a bad lot altogether.  The Colonel could add quite a respectable number of demerits to Broussard’s credit.  And to make matters worse, Broussard was a dashing fellow, the best rider in his troop, and had a way with him that made Anita’s eyes soften and her tea-rose cheeks brighten when he came within her presence.

Meanwhile, Broussard was walking up the long and handsome drawing-room toward the little glass room at the end, which had been fitted up for Anita’s birds, her doves and her canaries.

Anita, leaning backward in the cushioned window seat, held to her breast a fluttering white dove.  She did not see Broussard until he was quite in the little room, and had closed the glass door after him.  As Anita gave Broussard her hand, a great wave of delicate color flooded her face.  This quickened the beating of Broussard’s heart—­Anita did not blush like that for everybody.  She had a gentle aloofness generally toward men which was a baffling mystery to her mother.

Broussard, being frankly in love with Anita, lost all his importance and presumption in her sweet presence, and was as gentle and modest as the white dove that Anita still held to her breast.  As he longed to sit near her and ask her poignant questions, Broussard sat a long way off and talked common-places, chiefly about birds, of which he showed a surprising knowledge, gleaned that afternoon from the encyclopaedia, in anticipation of his visit.  Also, Broussard had, very artfully, secured a traitor in the enemy’s camp because it was well understood at Fort Blizzard that Colonel Fortescue was the enemy of every subaltern at the post who dared to raise his sacrilegious eyes to the Colonel’s daughter.

This traitor was Kettle, into whose hand Broussard never failed to place a quarter whenever they met, and at the same time to wink gravely.  Kettle knew the meaning both of the quarter and the wink.

Across the hall Kettle was arranging the dinner table, it being Mrs. McGillicuddy’s duty to put the After-Clap to bed.  The dining-room door was ajar, and Kettle kept an eye open to Broussard’s advantage.

Presently, Mrs. Fortescue came down-stairs, dressed for dinner in a gown of a jocund yellow, which Colonel Fortescue liked.  As she passed the open door of the handsome dining-room, Kettle beckoned to her mysteriously.  Mrs. Fortescue walked into the room and Kettle closed the door after her.

“Miss Betty,” whispered Kettle earnestly, “doan’ you go into that there apiary,” by which Kettle meant the aviary.  “Miss Anita is in there with Mr. Broussard, an’ he got on his courtin’ breeches, an’ they’s jest as quiet as a couple of sleepin’ babies.”