ening and play my daughter's
accompaniments. We are having a large dinner and I should like Anita
to play for us after dinner."

"Certainly, madam," answered Neroda, who, like everybody else, was
anxious to do Mrs. Fortescue's smiling bidding, "I am proud of the
signorina's playing."

"Mr. Broussard is coming to the dinner," continued Mrs. Fortescue after
a moment. "He sings so charmingly. It would be delightful to have him
sing and Anita to play a violin obligato."

"Admirable! Admirable!" cried Neroda, "Mr. Broussard has a superb
voice--much too good for an amateur."

Mrs. Fortescue laughed; Broussard's beautiful voice was one of the
Colonel's grave objections to him. Anita remained silent, but Mrs.
Fortescue noticed the happy smile on her lips, as she picked a little
air upon the strings; she longed to show off her accomplishments before
Broussard and to accompany his singing seemed a little incursion into
Paradise.

It was arranged that Neroda should come at half-past nine and have the
violin tuned. Anita, dropping the violin, found a book of songs, some
of which she had heard Broussard sing.

"Come," she cried eagerly, "I must play these obligatos over. You will
sing the songs."

Neroda sat down once more to the piano and played and sang in a queer,
cracked voice, the songs, while Anita, her soul in her eyes and all her
heart and strength in her bow arm, played the violin part. She did it
beautifully, and Mrs. Fortescue kissed the girl's glowing cheek when
the music was through. Kettle, who was himself a fiddler, at that
moment poked his head in at the door. He had a fellow artist's
jealousy of Neroda but he was forced by his artistic conscience to say:

"Lord, Miss 'Nita, you cert'ny kin make a fiddle talk!"

It was noon before the lesson was over and Neroda left. Anita,
exultant in the thought of playing to Broussard's singing, could not
remain indoors, but putting on her long, dark fur coat and her pretty
fur cap, which accentuated her delicate beauty, went out for a walk
alone.

Beyond the limits of the great post, was a long, straight promenade,
bordered with stately young fir trees, and as it led to nowhere, was in
general a solitary place. It was here that Anita loved to walk alone.
The only objection to the place was that it gave upon the aviation
field--a place abhorred by all the women at the fort, from the
Colonel's lady down to the company laundresses. Anita always turned
her