git such a smack as you did,' he said laughing.

'Well,' said she, smiling, 'I guess I gave as good as I got.'

'Served him right,' he said. 'You kissed back good 'n hard. Gran sport!'
he added turning to me.

'Best I ever had,' was my humble acknowledgement.

'Seldom ever see a girl kissed so powerful,' he said as he took Hope
hand in his. 'Now if the Bible said when a body kissed ye on one cheek
ye mus' turn if other I wouldn't find no fault. But ther's a heap o
differ'nce 'tween a whack an' a smack.

When we had come back from dinner Uncle Eb drew off his boots and sat
comfortably in his stocking feet while Hope told of her travels and I of
my soldiering. She had been at the Conservatory, nearly the whole period
of her absence, and hastened home when she learned of the battle and of
my wound. She had landed two days before.

Hope's friend and Uncle Eb went away to their rooms in good season. Then
I came and sat beside Hope on the sofa.

'Let's have a good talk,' I said.

There was an awkward bit of silence.

'Well,' said she, her fan upon her lips, 'tell me more about the war.

'Tired of war,' I answered; 'love is a better subject.

She rose and walked up and down the room, a troubled look in her face. I
thought I had never seen a woman who could carry her head so proudly.

'I don't think you are very familiar with it,' said she presently.

'I ought to be,' I answered, 'having loved you all these years.

'But you told me that--that you loved another girl,' she said, her elbow
leaning on the mantel, her eyes looking down soberly.

'When? Where?' I asked.

'In Mrs Fuller's parlour.'

'Hope,' I said, 'you misunderstood me; I meant you.

She came toward me, then, looking up into my eyes. I started to embrace
her but she caught my hands and held them apart and came close to me.

'Did you say that you meant me?' she asked in a whisper.

'I did.'

'Why did you not tell me that night?

'Because you would not listen to me and we were interrupted.

'Well if I loved a girl,' she said, 'I'd make her listen.'

'I would have done that but Mrs Fuller saved you.'

'You might have written,' she suggested in a tone of injury.

'I did.'

'And the letter never came--just as I feared.'

She looked very sober and thoughtful then.

'You know our understanding that day in the garden,' she added. 'If you
did not ask me again I was to know you--you did not love me any longer.
That was long, long ago.

'I