hen a second lieutenant is not dear and fascinating. As for
these two, I am doubly fond of them, for their fathers were army men
before them, and old-time friends of ours. George I knew as a little lad
in Washington. I must tell you of an adventure of his, that shows what a
sterling fellow he is."

Mary heard only part of the anecdote, for at the same time Kitty was
telling an uproariously funny joke on Ranald, and all the rest were
laughing. But she heard enough to make her take a second look at
Lieutenant Logan. He was leaning forward in his chair, talking to Joyce
with an air of flattering interest. And Joyce, in one of her new
dresses, her face flushed a little from the unusual excitement, was
talking her best and looking her prettiest.

[Illustration: "HE WAS LEANING FORWARD IN HIS CHAIR, TALKING TO JOYCE"]

"She's having a good time just like other girls," thought Mary,
thankfully. "This will make up for lots of lonely times in the desert,
when she was homesick for the high-school girls and boys at Plainsville.
It would be fine if things would turn out so that Joyce liked an army
man. If she married one and lived at a post she'd invite me to visit
her. Lieutenant Logan might be a general some day, and it would be nice
to have a great man in the family. I wish mamma and Jack and Holland
could see what a good time we are having."

It did not occur to Mary that, curled up in a big chair in the corner,
she was taking no more active share in the good times than the portraits
on the wall. Her eager smile and the alert happy look in her eyes showed
that she was all a-tingle with the unusual pleasure the evening was
affording her. She laughed and looked and listened, sure that the scene
she was enjoying was as good as a play. She had never seen a play, it is
true; but she had read of them, and of player folk, until she knew she
was fitted to judge of such things.

It was a pleasure just to watch the gleam of the soft candle-light on
Kitty's red ribbons, or on the string of gold beads around Allison's
white throat. Maybe it was the candle-light which threw such a soft
glamour over everything and made it seem that the pretty girls and the
young lieutenants were only portraits out of a beautiful old past who
had stepped down from their frames for a little while. Yet when Mary
glanced up, the soldier boy was still in his picture on the wall, and
the beautiful girl with the June rose in her hair was still in her
frame, st