ir,
most of them over young and all of them vastly trying. 'Bewitching
Bet'!" This time he did see the scorn of her curling lip. "I had
rather you call me anything else--even 'child' or--'Betty.'"

They stood awhile in silence, the Major looking at her and she at the
rose: "'Betty'!" said he at last, half to himself, as if trying the
sound of it. "'Tis a most--pretty name!"

"I had not thought so," she answered. And there was silence again, he
watching where she was heedlessly brushing the rose to and fro across
her vivid lips and looking at nothing in particular.

"Your guests await you," said he.

"They often do," she answered.

"I'll go," said the Major and glanced toward the ladder. "Good-bye, my
lady."

"Well?" she asked softly.

"And--er--my grateful thanks----"

"Well?" she asked again, softer yet.

"I also hope that--er--I trust that since we're neighbours, I--we----"

"The wall is not insurmountable, sir. Well? O man," she cried
suddenly--"if you really want it so why don't you ask for it--or take
it?"

The Major stared and flushed.

"You--you mean----"

"This!" she cried and tossed the rose to his feet. Scarcely believing
his eyes he stooped and took it up, and holding it in reverent fingers
watched her hasting along the yew-walk. Standing thus he saw her met
by a slender, elegant gentleman, saw him stoop to kiss her white
fingers, and, turning suddenly, strode to the ladder.

So the Major presently climbed back over the wall and went his way, the
rose tenderly cherished in the depths of one of his great side-pockets
and, as he went, he limped rather noticeably but whistled softly to
himself, a thing very strange in him, whistled softly but very merrily.

CHAPTER V

HOW SERGEANT ZEBEDEE TRING BEGAN TO WONDER

Mrs. Agatha sat just within the kitchen-garden shelling peas--and Mrs.
Agatha did it as only a really accomplished woman might; at least, so
thought Sergeant Zebedee, who, busied about some of his multifarious
carpentry jobs, happened to come that way. He thought also that with
her pretty face beneath snowy mob-cap, her shapely figure in its neat
gown, she made as attractive a picture as any man might see on the
longest day's march--of all which Mrs. Agatha was supremely conscious,
of course.

"A hot day, mam!" said he, halting.

Mrs. Agatha glanced up demurely, smiled, and gave all her attention to
the peas again.

"You do be getting more observant every day,