l's shoulder with wide, fascinated eyes fixed upon
the stranger.

"Noel," cut in the high, baby voice, "isn't that an ugly man? Who's that
ugly man, Noel?"

Noel squeezed Olga's hand and set it free to lift the small questioner
to his knee.

"That handsome gentleman, Peggy, is my brother, and he is going to marry
this pretty lady--whom you know. Any more questions?"

Peggy stared at Olga very seriously. "Do you want to marry him, Miss
Ratcliffe?" she asked.

"Of course she does," said Max. "Everyone wants to marry me. It's a sort
of disease that spreads like the plague."

Peggy's eyes returned to him and fixed him with grave attention.

"I don't want to marry you," she announced with absolute decision.

"You'd rather have the plague, eh?" suggested Noel.

"No," said Peggy, and turned to him with her sweet, adoring smile. "But
I'm goin' to marry you; aren't I, Noel?"

"Hear, hear!" said Noel with enthusiasm.

"Highly suitable," said Max.

"I hope you will both be very happy," said Olga, with a touch of
earnestness that she emphasized with a secret pressure of Noel's arm.

"We shall be as happy as the day is long," said Noel, smiling straight
into her eyes. "Now, little sweetheart," turning to Peggy, "I must be
off. We've got some tough work in front of us."

"I hope you'll win," said Olga.

He stood up, looking very straight and handsome. His dark eyes, laughing
downwards, seemed to challenge her to detect any shadow of
disappointment in them.

"Win! Why, of course we shall. We're going to lick Akbar & Co. into the
middle of next week--for the honour of the Regiment and Badgers."

He cast an impudent glance over his shoulder towards his commanding
officer, with whom, however, he was a supreme favourite; smiled again at
Olga while wholly over-looking Max, then swung around on his heel and
departed.

Peggy stood for a moment watching him go, then with sudden resolution
put aside the arm Olga had passed around her and ran after him.

"Highly suitable," Max said again.

Olga turned to him. "That's what Nick says. But it's such a long while
for him to wait, poor boy."

"That wouldn't hurt him," said Max. "Do him all the good in the world,
in fact. He's too much of a spoilt darling at present."

"Oh, Max, how can you say so? He is so splendid."

Max's mouth curved downwards. He said nothing.

"Max!" Olga's voice was anxious; it held a hint of pleading also, "you
haven't--quarrelled, have you?"