rather a weight off one's mind, as America had cost
something in spite of everybody's being so hospitable and good. Kitty
would go to Paris with her, and help to choose the things, which would
be nicer than having just a sum down, and going alone. So they--Di and
Kitty and Father--had all decided to cut out the rest of the visits
arranged and "make for home." California had been great fun, and Di
wished she might stop longer, but one couldn't have one's cake and eat
it, too. Being married was her cake. This was her mistake. As I have
said before, she had always had both.

Major Vandyke's "work in El Paso" was to bear witness against Eagle
March in the court-martial which would come on almost at once. And I was
to go away without hearing the verdict or seeing Eagle after all was
over.

* * * * *

Di had written to Mrs. Dalziel, too, it appeared, and Milly was only too
glad of an excuse to escape from the the place where Captain March's
society had been the first and only attraction for her.

"Now that Tony's time is so dreadfully taken up," she said to her
mother, "he can't give us any fun, or have any fun with us himself, so
we might as well go away. _Let's_, dear! Let's clear out to-morrow, and
take Peggy to meet Lady Di and the others at Albuquerque, where we can
get into the 'Limited' and join them."

"I don't know what Tony will say!" wavered Mrs. Dalziel, who was finding
El Paso rather hot in those days, for plump people. She looked at me. So
did Milly. Then Milly laughed. "No good pretending we've got cotton wool
over our eyes," she exclaimed. "Can't you make up your mind to take my
poor, dear little brother, Peggy, and put him out of his misery?"

"Tony and I understand each other already," I said.

"Do you? Oh, I'm _so_ glad, so pleased," they both cried together. And I
had to explain in a violent hurry, before I had been caressed under
false pretences, that there are understandings _and_ understandings.
Tony's and mine was the kind of understanding which left us both
perfectly free; the kind of understanding where you didn't make up your
mind, but just waited to see whether it made itself up.

"Isn't there anything between you and the poor boy, then?" implored the
boy's mother.

"Only--a kiss," I said. "One--on a cheek. My cheek."

"Well, that's something," she sighed. "At least, it was when I was a
girl."

It was not much to me, though it might have been to a better