ded to greet him, and--he could
not speak; he knew not what to say or do; he longed for the first time
in his life to kneel at a woman's feet and press her hand to his lips,
but that would be an unwarrantable demonstration in these conventional
days. He simply bowed low, held it one lingering moment in both
his,--she must have felt their eager trembling,--and then, without the
kiss for which his soul was longing, reluctantly let it go and looked
once into her eyes.

"Miss--Marion, I--_cannot_ tell you how glad I am to see you!"
Low-toned, heartfelt, eager, they were all he dare say. He meant to be
true to his resolve, and to prove his worth and his gratitude by
something better than words. And for once at least in his gallant
debonair life, Ray was mute and at a loss in a woman's presence. He was
indeed conquered,--heart and soul.

A delightful dinner they had, that little _partie carree_; Mrs. Truscott
had declined, because she said one more woman would spoil it all, and
she wanted to write to Jack. And then Ray had to go and see the colonel
and have a long talk with him about the big command he was to take north
on the morrow, and to shake hands gravely with the embarrassed veteran,
and cordially and gladly with Warner, and to welcome the dozen handsome,
soldierly, enthusiastic young graduates, who came in a body to call and
pay their respects and tell their young commander how their recruit
companies were doing; and then there were a host of other affairs to
attend to, and an inspection of all the five hundred horses that were to
bear them northward in the morning, and afterwards the four hundred
recruits who were to go to the cavalry regiments with him. And then came
retreat parade, and the solemn dinner with the colonel and his amiable
better half, a dinner which seemed interminable, but which was as much a
duty as attending roll-call, and so it was late when he could get into
full-dress uniform and go over to the hop and see her once again.
Warner, lucky devil, was to be her escort, and the young officers would
have taken every dance but for the waltz he found courage to ask for at
dinner. How he rebelled at the idea of having to escort Mrs. Whaling!
Still, it was all part of his self-imposed penance, thought he, with a
grave, quiet smile, as Hogan was helping him to dress, and the strains
of the dance music came floating witchingly over the parade. He had only
time to see Dandy one moment, to pet and fondle him