ously appealing to
Broussard, an expression in the frank young eyes, a soft beauty in the
boy's smile, that reminded Broussard of something loved and lost, but
he knew not what it was nor whence it came. Anita, although knowing
nothing of the gentleman-ranker and his wife and the handsome boy
except that, obviously, they were unlike their neighbors and fellows in
the married men's quarters, yet always observed them with curiosity.
Their unlikeness to their station in life was of itself a mystery, and
consequently of interest. Mrs. Fortescue, the soul of kindness to the
soldiers' wives and children, could make nothing of Mrs. Lawrence, who
withdrew into herself at Mrs. Fortescue's approach, and Mrs. Fortescue,
seeing that Mrs. Lawrence wished to hold aloof, respected her wishes,
and from sheer pity left her alone. Mrs. McGillicuddy was not so
considerate, and told thrilling tales of rebuffs administered by Mrs.
Lawrence to corporals' wives, and even sergeants' wives who were
willing to notice her and get snubbed for their good intentions.

"Mr. Broussard is the only man Mrs. Lawrence gives a decent word to,"
said Mrs. McGillicuddy in Anita's hearing, "When she meets him
anywhere, walkin' about, she stops and smiles and talks to him as if
she was the Colonel's lady--that she does, the minx! And she
pretending to be so meek and mild and not looking at any man, except
that good-for-nothing, handsome husband of hers! Just watch her,
stoppin' in the post trader's to talk with Mr. Broussard, she so
haughty-like, and carryin' her own bundles home, like she was doin'
herself a favor!"

This sank deep into Anita's mind, as did every word referring to
Broussard. But she could make nothing of it; and Mrs. Lawrence, the
soldier's wife, became at once an object of interest, of mystery,
almost of jealousy, to Anita. The little boy she noticed, as did all
who saw him, and like everybody else, she was won by him.

The morning of the great dinner at the Fortescues', Neroda, the Italian
band-master, came to give Anita her violin lesson. Mrs. Fortescue,
listening and delighted with Anita's progress, came in to the
drawing-room as Neroda was shouting bravos in rapture over the way his
best pupil caught the soul of music in her delicate hands and made it
prisoner.

"Good-morning, Mr. Neroda," said Mrs. Fortescue in her pretty and
affable manner--Mrs. Fortescue would have been affable with an ogre--"I
must ask you to come this ev