I think she is
the worst type of coquette--she treats all men alike. You remember my
writing you about Anita being thrown at the music ride last Christmas
Eve, and Broussard jumping his horse over her?"

"I should think so," answered Beverley. "I wish you could have seen the
letter the Colonel wrote me about it. I felt more sorry for what the
poor old chap must have suffered than for you, mother."

"Don't call your father 'the poor old chap,'" said Mrs. Fortescue
positively. "And don't make jokes about the After-Clap being the child
of his old age. Your father doesn't like it. It's perfectly disgusting
the way young people now speak of their elders, who are barely
middle-aged, as if they were centenarians. Well, I think, and your
father thinks, that Anita had a fancy for Broussard. He was a very
attractive man. Your father thought him a prodigal with his money, but,
of course, some fault must be found with every man who looks at Anita."

[Illustration: "Don't call your father 'the poor old chap,'" said Mrs.
Fortescue positively.]

"But Anita is so young--a chit, a child."

"She is not quite three years younger than you," replied Mrs. Fortescue.
"This notion that Anita is a child and must be treated as such is
ridiculous. Why, when I was Anita's age, I had had a dozen love affairs."

"Did no one ever tell you, mother, that you are a born coquette, and you
will be coquettish at ninety, if you live to bless us so long?"

Mrs. Fortescue laughed the soft, musical laugh that was a part of her
armory of charms, and made no reply.

At dinner that night Beverley suddenly began to ask questions about
Broussard, praising his horsemanship, but wanting to know what kind of a
fellow he was. The Colonel spoke guardedly and damned Broussard with
faint praise, as he would any man whom he thought likely to rob him of
his one ewe lamb; yet the Colonel thought himself a just man.

The eloquent blood leaped into Anita's cheeks, and there was something
like resentment in her eyes at the Colonel's cool commendation. After
dinner she took Beverley into the garden, and the brother and sister
walked up and down in the moonlight, and Anita, thinking she was keeping
her secret, revealed everything to Beverley. Broussard was the finest
young officer, the most beautiful horseman, he could sing Koerner's Battle
Hymn as no one else could, and when she played a violin obligato to his
songs of love----

Anita stopped short, and