skinned vanities
opposed to each other. The smart of seeing one's affianced bride in
the arms of another man hurts grievously sore. It's a primitive sex
affair, independent of love in its modern sense. If the savage's
abandoned squaw runs off with another fellow, he pursues him with
clubs and tomahawks until he has avenged the insult. Having known ME,
to decline to Spotted Crocodile! So the finest flower of civilization
cannot surrender the lady who once was his to the more favoured male
without a primitive pang. On the other hand, Doggie knew very well
that he did not love Peggy, that he had never loved Peggy. But how in
common decency could a man tell a girl, who had wasted a couple of
years of her life over him, that he had never loved her? Instead of
replying to her questions, he walked about the room in a worried way.

"I take it," said Peggy incisively, after a while, "that you don't
care for me any longer."

He turned and halted at the challenge. He snapped his fingers. What
was the good of all this beating of the bush?

"Look here, Peggy, let's face it out. If you'll confess that you and
Oliver are in love with each other, I'll confess to a girl in France."

"Oh?" said Peggy, with a swift change to coolness. "There's a girl in
France, is there? How long has this been going on?"

"The last four days in billets before I got wounded," said Doggie.

"What is she like?"

Then Doggie suddenly laughed out loud and took her by the shoulders in
a grasp rougher than she had ever dreamed to lie in the strength or
nature of Marmaduke Trevor, and kissed her the heartiest, honestest
kiss she had ever had from man, and rushed out of the room.

Presently he returned, dragging with him the disconsolate Major.

"Here," said he, "fix it up between you. I've told Peggy about a girl
in France and she wants to know what she's like."

Peggy, shaken by the rude grip and the kiss, flashed and cried
rebelliously:

"I'm not quite so sure that I want to fix it up with Oliver."

"Oh yes, you do," cried Oliver.

He snatched up Doggie's cap and jammed it on Doggie's head and cried:

"Doggie, you're the best and truest and finest of dear old chaps in
the whole wide world."

Doggie settled his cap, grinned, and moved to the door.

"Anything else, sir?"

Oliver roared, delighted: "No, Private Trevor, you can go."

"Very good, sir."

Doggie saluted smartly and went out. He passed through the French
window of the dining-roo