g tenderness. He felt his soul dissolving in
its liquid depths.

Throughout the lunch he caught himself staring at her in moments of long
silence. He had for the first time in his life lost his capacity for
silly gaiety.

He roused himself with an effort, and wondered what on earth had come
over him. He was too deeply interested in studying the girl to attempt
to analyze his own feelings. It never occurred to him to try. He was too
busy watching the tender light in her eyes.

He wondered if she could be engaged to the fellow she went riding
with? He resented the idea. Of course not. And when he remembered the
care-free ring to her laughter when she said goodbye, he was reassured.
No girl could laugh a goodbye like that to a man she loved. The tone was
too poised and impersonal.

He asked her to ride with him that afternoon.

"On one condition," she smiled.

"What?"

"That you bring your banjo and play for me when I ask you."

"How'd you know I had a banjo?"

"Caught the final twang as you tuned it on my arrival."

"I'll bring it if you like."

"Please."

He hurried to his room, placed the banjo in its case and threw it over
his shoulder. She had promised to be ready in ten minutes and have the
horses at the door.

She was ready in eight minutes, and leaped into the saddle before he
could reach her side. For the life of him he couldn't keep his eye off
her exquisite figure.

She rode without effort. She had been born in the saddle.

She led him along the military road to the juncture of the Smoky Hill
and Republican rivers. A lover at the Fort had built a seat against a
huge rock that crowned the hill overlooking the fork of the rivers.

Stuart hitched the horses and found the seat. For two hours he played
his banjo and they sang old songs together.

"I love a banjo--don't you?" she asked enthusiastically.

"It's my favorite music. There's no sorrow in a banjo. You can make it
laugh. You can make it shout. You can make it growl and howl and snarl
and fight. But you can't make a banjo cry. There are no tears in it. The
joy of living is all a banjo knows. Why should we try to know anything
else anyhow?"

"We shouldn't," she answered soberly. "The other things will come
without invitation sometime."

For an hour they talked of the deep things of life. He told of his high
ambitions of service for his country in the dark days that might come in
the future. Of the kind of soldier the nation would nee