ve my judgment."

"If only a few more of us had the wisdom to do that," the girl said
softly. "How much easier life would be for every one!"

Wyndham smiled.

"I have a notion that life isn't meant to be easy," he said. "And the
fact remains that Meredith and the Colonel are right in principle. Few
men are strong enough to stand the strain of being pulled two ways at
once, and marriage is bound to be a grave risk for a man whose heart
is set on soldiering--Frontier soldiering above all. But then Desmond
loves a risk better than anything else in life."

And with an abrupt laugh he dismissed the subject.

"I must be going on now," he added. "But no doubt we shall meet again
soon. I am constantly over at the bungalow."

And, saluting her again, he trotted leisurely northward to the cavalry
Lines.

His thoughts as he went hovered about the girl. The mere picture she
left upon his brain was not one to be lightly set aside by a man with
an ardent eye for the beautiful, and a spirit swift to discern those
hidden elements which gave to Honor Meredith's beauty its distinctive
quality and charm.

Some men are born with a genius for looking on at life, a form of
genius not to be despised. They are of the type from which great
naturalists, great philosophers are made; men quick to perceive, slow
to assert; men whose large patience rests upon freedom from the fret
of personal desire. Of such was Paul Wyndham, and in his accepted role
of onlooker he fell to pondering upon the new element in his own
immediate drama.

If only Desmond had chosen for his helpmate such a girl as Miss
Meredith, how different might have been the regiment's feelings in
regard to the unwelcome fact of his marriage. Yet Wyndham was aware of
an instant recoil from the idea, aware that he personally preferred
matters as they stood. With which conclusion he spurred his horse to
a canter, as though he could thus outrun the quickened current of
thought and feeling which this unlooked-for meeting had set stirring
in his brain.

* * * * *

Meantime Honor Meredith had fallen in with another member of her
newly-adopted family:--a big, raw-boned Irishwoman, who wore her
curling reddish hair cropped short, answered to the name of "Frank,"
and dressed chronically in a serviceable skirt and covert coat, and a
man's shikarri helmet. When riding, the skirt was replaced by that of
a country-made habit; and in the simplest evening