.

"I suppose that is the case," she said sympathetically, in answer to
his last remark. "You have never told me anything about your last
campaign. You were injured in it, were you not?"

The man had his weaknesses, but they did not include any desire to
retail his exploits and sufferings to women's ears. He would not speak
of his wounds, honorably received, or of perils faced as carelessly as
he had exposed his men.

"Yes," he answered. "But that was bad enough at the time, and the rest
of it would make a rather monotonous tale."

"Surely not!" protested Sylvia. "The thrill and bustle of a campaign
must be wonderfully exciting."

"The novelty of marching steadily in a blazing sun, drinking bad water,
and shoveling trenches half the night, soon wears off," he said with a
short laugh, and changed the subject. "One could imagine that you're
not fond of quietness."

Sylvia shivered. The memory of her two years in Canada could not be
banished. She looked back on them with something like horror.

"No," she declared; "I hate it! It's deadly to me."

"Well, I've an idea. There's the Dene Hall charity gymkana comes off
in a few days. It's semi-private, and I know the people; in fact
they've made me enter for some of the events. It's a pretty ride to
the place, and I can get a good car. Will you come?"

"I don't know whether I ought," said Sylvia, with some hesitation.

"Think over it, anyway," he begged her.

One or two people came out, and when somebody called her name Sylvia
left him, without promising. Bland remained leaning on the wall and
thinking hard. Sylvia strongly attracted him. She was daintily
pretty, quick of comprehension, and, in spite of her black attire,
which at times gave her a forlorn air that made him compassionate,
altogether charming. It was, however, unfortunate that he could not
marry a poor wife, and he knew nothing about Sylvia's means. To do him
justice, he had shrunk from any attempt to obtain information on this
point; but he felt that it would have to be made before things went too
far. His thoughts were interrupted by Ethel West, who strolled along
the terrace and stopped close at hand.

"I didn't expect to find you wrapped in contemplation," she remarked.

"As a matter of fact, I've been talking."

"To Mrs. Marston? She's generally considered entertaining."

Bland looked at her with a smile. He liked Ethel West. She was blunt,
without being tactless, and h