ith him,"
urged Mrs. Fortescue, "let him see he can have Anita."

"How can I limber up and tell him he can have Anita?" roared the Colonel.
"The fellow hasn't asked me for Anita."

"He's asking you all the time," answered Mrs. Fortescue, smiling.

Colonel Fortescue looked up at her with sombre eyes. He had seen Anita
become the target for the flashing eyes of junior officers. He realized
that Mrs. Fortescue, woman-like, did not share and could not understand
the pangs of his soul at the thought of parting with Anita. He had often
observed that mothers willingly gave their daughters in marriage, but he
had never seen a father give up his daughter cheerfully to another man.
Mrs. Fortescue saw something of this in Colonel Fortescue's face and
leaned her cheek against his.

"Dear," she said, "I believe most fathers suffer as you do at the thought
of giving up a daughter and some day I shall suffer the same at giving up
my son to another woman. So, after all, since our children will take on
a new love, we must return to our honeymoon days and not let anything
matter so long as we are together. Then, the After-Clap--I always feel
so ridiculously young whenever I look at that baby."

At this the Colonel's heart was soothed and he did not hate Broussard
quite so much.

There was, however, no let-up in Broussard's ardent wooing of the
Colonel, who took it a trifle more graciously. One afternoon, late in
December, Broussard, passing the headquarters building, saw Colonel
Fortescue's orderly holding the bridle reins of Gamechick, who was
saddled. Broussard was in his riding clothes and was himself waiting for
the horse lent him for the afternoon by a brother officer. He stopped
and began to pat Gamechick's beautiful neck and the horse, who was, like
all intelligent horses, a sentimentalist, rubbed his nose against
Broussard's head, and said, as plainly as a horse can say:

"Dear master, I love you still."

Colonel Fortescue, coming out of the gate, saw Broussard, and his heart
softened as he recalled the last time he had seen Broussard riding
Gamechick. It was now nearly a year ago.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Broussard," said the Colonel, "I see you are dressed
for riding. Perhaps you would like to ride that old charger again; if
so, I will send for my own horse. Gamechick belongs to my daughter and I
only ride him to keep him in condition, because sometimes she is a little
lazy about exercising him."

"Ladies ar