t a drink, you know where to find it."

They played a game of billiards and then went into another room, where
Dick lost a sovereign to Kenwardine. After that, he sat in a corner,
smoking and languidly looking about, for he had been hard at work since
early morning. Two or three subaltern officers from a neighboring camp
stood by the table, besides several other men whose sunburned faces
indicated a country life. The carpets and furniture were getting shabby,
but the room was large and handsome, with well-molded cornices and
paneled ceiling. The play was not high and the men were quiet, but the
room was filled with cigar smoke and there was a smell of liquor. Dick
did not object to drink and gambling in moderation, though it was seldom
that he indulged in either. He found no satisfaction in that sort of
thing, and he now felt that some of Kenwardine's friends would do better
to join the new armies than to waste their time as they were doing.

At last Kenwardine threw down the cards.

"I think we have had enough for a time," he said. "Shall we go into the
music-room, for a change?"

Dick followed the others, and looked up with surprise when Clare came in.
Lance had spoken of a pretty girl, but she was not the type Dick had
expected. She wore a very plain white dress, with touches of blue that
emphasized her delicate coloring. Her hair was a warm yellow with deeper
tones, her features were regular and well-defined, and Dick liked the
level glance of her clear, blue eyes. He thought they rested on him
curiously for a moment. She had Kenwardine's slender, well-balanced
figure, and her movements were graceful, but Dick's strongest impression
was that she was out of place. Though perfectly at ease, she did not fit
into her environment: she had a freshness that did not harmonize with
cigar smoke and the smell of drink.

Clare gave him a pleasant smile when he was presented, and after speaking
to one or two of the others she went to the piano when Kenwardine asked
her to sing. Dick, who was sitting nearest the instrument, stooped to
take a bundle of music from a cabinet she opened.

"No," she said; "you may put those down. I'm afraid we have nothing quite
so good, and perhaps it's silly, but I've fallen back on our own
composers since the fourth of August."

Dick spread out the music, to display the titles.

"These fellows have been dead some time," he argued humorously. "They'd
probably disown their descendants if they