orchid from a hollyhock, but no man in the
army was a better judge of a cavalry horse, and if a Wagner recital bored
him to death his spirit rose, nevertheless, to the bugle, and he drilled
his troop until he could play with it and snap it about him like a whip.

Shirley Claiborne had been out of college a year, and afforded a pleasant
refutation of the dull theory that advanced education destroys a girl's
charm, or buoyancy, or whatever it is that is so greatly admired in young
womanhood. She gave forth the impression of vitality and strength. She
was beautifully fair, with a high color that accentuated her
youthfulness. Her brown hair, caught up from her brow in the fashion of
the early years of the century, flashed gold in sunlight.

Much of Shirley's girlhood had been spent in the Virginia hills, where
Judge Claiborne had long maintained a refuge from the heat of Washington.
From childhood she had read the calendar of spring as it is written upon
the landscape itself. Her fingers found by instinct the first arbutus;
she knew where white violets shone first upon the rough breast of the
hillsides; and particular patches of rhododendron had for her the
intimate interest of private gardens.

Undoubtedly there are deities fully consecrated to the important business
of naming girls, so happily is that task accomplished. Gladys is a child
of the spirit of mischief. Josephine wears a sweet gravity, and Mary,
too, discourses of serious matters. Nora, in some incarnation, has seen
fairies scampering over moor and hill and the remembrance of them teases
her memory. Katherine is not so faithless as her ways might lead you to
believe. Laura without dark eyes would be impossible, and her predestined
Petrarch would never deliver his sonnets. Helen may be seen only against
a background of Trojan wall. Gertrude must be tall and fair and ready
with ballads in the winter twilight. Julia's reserve and discretion
commend her to you; but she has a heart of laughter. Anne is to be found
in the rose garden with clipping-shears and a basket. Hilda is a capable
person; there is no ignoring her militant character; the battles of Saxon
kings ring still in her blood. Marjorie has scribbled verses in secret,
and Celia is the quietest auditor at the symphony. And you may have
observed that there is no button on Elizabeth's foil; you do well not to
clash wits with her. Do you say that these ascriptions are not square
with your experience? Then ve