man, Mrs. Stannard (who never told even a society lie unless there
was no way out of it), had brought no word from Harris, nor had Bentley
mentioned such a thing, and this fact impressed itself upon the happy
man as twice, thrice they slowly promenaded past the open door of the
doctor's quarters without a glimpse of Harris, and, finally, on the
fourth, the return trip, Willett in his exuberant bliss, would not be
denied.

"Harris! O--o--o--Hefty!" he shouted. "Come out and see a fellow!"

For a moment, silence. Then, not so resonant but still clearly audible,
for both men had voices that "carried" and were used to command:

"Come in, if you will. Can't come out!"

"I can't without leaving my convoy," was the return shout, but as
Willett glanced down into the lovely face so near his shoulder, he
found it paling just a bit, and troubled, not rejoiceful. "What is it,
sweet? Don't you--care to see him?"

"I think--I don't know--but--_he_ might not."

It was too late. She would have led her lover away, for, young as she
was, Lilian Archer had a woman's intuition, if not many a woman's wit.
All on a sudden, unheard because of moccasined feet and the doctor's
Indian matting, Harris stood in the doorway. He did not seem to look at
Willett. His eyes at once sought her, and seemed closing to a slit as
they encountered even the tempered light of declining day--the curious
habit common to so many who have long scouted in the glare of desert
suns. He hesitated not a moment. At sight of her he came quietly to the
edge of the veranda and down the shallow steps, his face pale, as was
to be expected, a grave smile upon his lips and even playing about the
corners of those keen, blue-gray, unflinching eyes. He waited for no
announcement or salutation from his brother officer--Mrs. Stannard and
the doctor had told him the news two days before, and there had been
ample time in which to digest it. Down in the depths of his heart he
believed that Willett had planned this "_coup_" for his especial
mortification, and down to the tip of his toes he longed to kick him
for it, whereas in Willett's exuberant self-gratulation, the one
thought at the moment was really a "Rejoice with me." That other men
should envy was, of course, to be expected. What worth were any triumph
without the joy of being envied!

All his life he had been used to it. All his life, in childish sports,
in boyish contest, on campus, rostrum, field or floor, among the la