re camp.

"What about him?"

"C. B. I met him coming out of the orderly room."

"Hm! Camp scavenger. Eaton-Hill will like that," Weldon commented
dryly. "What's the row about?"

"Cupid apparently. He went calling in Cape Town, last night, without
leave, stayed till past eleven and undertook to come in by sea. He
shipped in a leaky boat with a crew composed of one Kaffir boy; the
Kaffir funked the surf; they had an upset and Eaton-Hill waked up
the picket by the fervor of his swearing at the half-drowned
Kaffir."

"Poor Eaton-Hill! Both his morals and his clothes must have
suffered," Carew suggested. "Weldon, take warning. Next time you go
to call on Miss Arthur, start early and be sure you have your pass
pinned to the lining of your coat."

"Who is Miss Arthur?" demanded the chorus.

Deliberately Carew helped himself to the last of the bacon. Then he
made answer, with equal deliberation,--

"Miss Arthur is Weldon's lawful chaperon."

At four o'clock, that afternoon, Weldon arose reluctantly from his
seat on the western end of the Dents' veranda.

"Parade at five, Miss Dent, and Maitland Camp is four miles away."

Without rising, she smiled up into his waiting eyes.

"You made more than four miles an hour, when Captain Frazer and I
were watching you, the other day, Mr. Weldon."

"Yes, twenty at least. Still, as you may have noticed, my mount
doesn't always choose the straightest course. If she elects to go to
Maitland by way of Durban, it will take me all of the hour to make
the journey."

She laughed at his words. Then of a sudden her face grew grave.

"They've no right to give you such a horse, Mr. Weldon."

"Right? Oh, I beg pardon. I chose it."

"Is your life so unhappy?" she questioned, in mocking rebuke.

"It is no suicidal mania, Miss Dent," he reassured her. "I like the
rush and excitement of it all; but I had a summer on a ranch, and I
learned the trick of sitting tight until the beast tires itself out.
Broncho-busting is only a concrete form of philosophy, after all."

"And must you really go?" she asked him.

He lingered and hesitated. Then, with a glance at the horse fastened
to a post in the drive below, he straightened his shoulders.

"I must."

She rose to her feet.

"Good afternoon, then."

"And good by," he added.

"What does that mean?"

"That we leave Maitland Camp in the morning."

"I am sorry," she said, and her voice showed her regret. "Where are
you going?"

"