to lose its cynical sneers. And then
Dorris had relented, only to harden again at some irreverent words of
this incorrigible Keith. A sharp retort was on her lip now, but she
restrained it as L'Estrange once more joined the group, and the talk
drifted into quieter channels, the young soldiers a little graver than
usual. At last L'Estrange spoke with tender regret of the peaceful
scenes he was to leave so soon behind him, and Endicott answered:--

"Yes; think of all the drives and walks and talks, and all the charms of
civilized life you forego, and then of the camp-life and forced marches,
and chances of broken arms and legs, which you endure, and all for that
one sweet virtue,--patriotism."

This was too much for quick-tempered Dorris. Out flashed her words:--

"Mr. Endicott cares so little for that sweet virtue that he will enjoy
your pleasures while _you_ fight _his_ battles. If you will excuse me
now I will return to the parlors;" and with little head proudly erect,
Dorris started to enter the house, entertaining the fond hope that she
had at last paid Keith for all his trials of her patience and
patriotism. Alas!

"The best laid plans o'mice and men gang aft a-gley;"

and some one had carelessly left a footstool on the porch, and as
Dorris's foot struck it Endicott was the one to spring forward and save
her from falling. Lifting her eyes to acknowledge the courtesy, she met
such a look of quiet reproach that her "Thank you" came very humbly from
so proud a young lady; and when she reflected on the subject at that
trying moment which we have all experienced when we have regained our
temper, and are taking a mental retrospect of the occasion when we very
foolishly lost it, it was in vain that she tried to justify herself by
repeating his sneering words. Remembering the look that followed them,
she said, in self-abasement, "I had no right to judge him," and in her
humiliation avoided meeting him so successfully that for several days
after her cousin's departure she neither saw nor heard of him, until at
last she heard with relief that he had gone away for a short time, on
receiving news of the death of a cousin,--his nearest relative. But when
week after week passed, and Aunt Dorothy had several times wondered
aloud what had become of Mr. Endicott, Dorris began to wonder as well,
and to miss the magnetic presence that made him so charming to all;
indeed, she discovered, to her own uncontrollable disgust, that sh