enged
the patriotism of the speaker, and she had presented to Ralph's
appreciative eyes a picture which he was never to forget.

She had not been in the least embarrassed by his arrival, and his
uniform had made him seem at once her ally. "I am sure this gentleman
will be glad to talk to you," she had said to her little audience.
"I'll leave the field to him," and with a nod and a smile she had
ridden off, the applause of the men following her.

Ralph, having put the long-haired one to rout, had asked the men if
they knew the young lady who had talked to them. They had, it seemed,
seen her riding with Dr. McKenzie. They thought she was his daughter.
It had been easy enough after that to find Jean on his mother's
visiting list. Mrs. Witherspoon and Mrs. McKenzie had exchanged calls
during the life-time of the latter, but they had lived in different
circles. Mrs. Witherspoon had aspired to smartness and to the
friendship of the new people who brought an air of sophistication to
the staid and sedate old capital. Mrs. McKenzie had held to old
associations and to old ideals.

Mrs. Witherspoon was a widow and charming. Dr. McKenzie was a widower
and an addition to any dinner table. In a few weeks the old
acquaintance had been renewed. Ralph had wooed Jean ardently during
the short furloughs which had been granted him, and from long distance
had written a bit cocksurely. He had sent flowers, candy, books and
then, quite daringly; a silver trench ring.

Jean had sent the ring back. "It was dear of you to give it to me, but
I can't keep it."

"Why not?" he had asked when he next saw her.

"Because--"

"Because is no reason."

She had blushed, but stood firm. She was very shy--totally
unawakened--a little dreaming girl--with all of real life ahead of
her--with her innocence a white flower, her patriotism a red one. If
only he might wear that white and red above his heart.

As a matter of fact, Jean resented, sub-consciously, his air of
possession, the certainty with which he seemed to see the end of his
wooing.

"You can't escape me," he had told her.

"As if I were a rabbit," she had complained afterwards to her father.
"When I marry a man I don't want to be caught--I want to run to him,
with my arms wide open."

"Don't," her father advised; "not many men would be able to stand it.
Let them worship you, Jeanie, don't worship."

Jean stuck her nose in the air. "Falling in love doesn't come the way