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      Not of him, however, did Flora and her grandmother softly converse in Spanish amid the surrounding babel of English and French. Their theme was our battery drill of some ten days before, a subject urged upon Flora by the mosquito-like probings of Madame's musically whined queries. Better to be bled of almost any information by the antique little dame than to have her light on it some other way, as she had an amazing knack of doing. Her acted part of things Flora kept untold; but grandma's spirit of divination could unfailingly supply that, and her pencilled brows, stiff as they were, could tell the narrator she had done so.Norman sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, and extracted the hideously colored and uncomfortably feeling paper, read it, then sprung out of bed quite wide awake now.

      Yes; she is the sweetest and dearest girl in all the world, she said. And you are just finding it out? Ah, how happy you must be!

      [163]All women are, my dear Selvaine, said the duke, with delicious courtliness. But few are as beautiful as Miss Chetwynde.[134] My dear Trafford, I congratulate you with all my heart. You have shown excellent tasteas you always do. My dear boy, you have made me very happy. I could almost say that I am as happy as you must bethough that is impossible.

      Esmeralda, the pride of Three Star Camp, had not lost all the spirit of which the boys had always been so proud; and that spirit was slowly rising within her now.

      To-day is What is it?

      Isntisnt it Is this all there is of it? she asked in a low voice.

      What is it you are driving at? asked Lord Trafford, impatiently.The ball was almost over, and Lord Trafford had conducted Lady Ada to the brougham which she shared with her watch-dog and cousin, Lady Grange, and was hesitating between his club and bed, when Lord Selvaine came up and touched him on the shoulder.



      Oh, its quite different with you, he went on. And its all right that Lilias should look after things.Half a dozen, perhaps, said Varley, meditatively. What time does the coach pass the Gulch?


      "Take them back," she whispered, yet held it fast, "'tis too late! There--the door-bell! 'Tis Hilary Kincaid! All is too late, take them back!"