of fathers," said Mrs. Fortescue, after a minute. "You
think we mothers are jealous, but it is nothing compared with the
jealousy of fatherhood. I have already made up my mind to be all
graciousness and kindness to Beverley's future wife, but you have already
made up your mind to hate your future son-in-law, whoever he may be."

"How can a man love the man who robs him of his child? That's what
actually happens," replied Colonel Fortescue.

"Then the only thing you can do," replied Mrs. Fortescue, "is to
concentrate all of your love upon your wife, for then you have no other
man for a rival."

Colonel Fortescue agreed to this proposition, and also that his
objections to Broussard were purely fanciful and that he would contrive
to pick flaws in any man to whom Anita was inclined.

"But she thinks and dreams too much about Broussard," said the Colonel.
"Probably he looks upon her as a pretty child, just as Conway does."

"One can't control the thoughts and dreams of youth," replied Mrs.
Fortescue, "Anita must study the lesson-book of life and love like other
women."

"Did you see her face when I gave her the note?" asked Colonel Fortescue.

"You are an old goose," was all the reply Mrs. Fortescue would make to
this question.

Locked in her own room, Anita read her precious note. It was very short
and perfectly conventional, thanking her for writing to him for Mrs.
Lawrence. Broussard knew of Lawrence being among the missing men.

"Lawrence, as you may have heard," said the letter, "was a playmate of
mine in my boyhood and, although he has had hard luck, I have a deep
interest in him and his wife and child."

Then came a sentence that, to Anita, contained a sweet and hidden
meaning: "Although Gamechick is no longer mine, I shall always love the
horse because of something that happened last Christmas at the music
ride."

Anita was late for dinner that evening, and at the table, as she took her
lace handkerchief from the bosom of her little blue evening gown,
Broussard's note came out with the handkerchief, and fell upon the floor.
Her father and mother in kindness looked away, but Kettle, with
well-meant but indiscreet good will, picked the letter up, saying:

"Hi! Miss 'Nita, here's your letter you carry in your bosom."

Colonel Fortescue suddenly grew cross; this thing of having a man's
daughter carrying around next her heart a letter from another man is very
annoying to a father of Colonel Fortescue'