so _longing_ to know. It is very unpleasant
to be obliged to _think_ of people by their surnames, is it not? so
unfriendly!"

He is quite staggered by the excess of her geniality.

"My name is Brian," he says, devoutly hoping she will not think it
hideous and so see cause to pass judgment upon it.

"Brian!" going nearer to him with half-shy eyes, and a little _riante_
mouth that with difficulty suppresses its laughter. "How _pretty_!
Brian," purposely lingering over it, "with an 'i' of course?"

"Yes."

"I'm so glad I know yours now!" says this disgraceful little coquette,
with a sigh of pretended relief. "You knew mine, and that wasn't fair,
you know. Besides,"--with a rapid glance that might have melted an
anchorite and delivered him from the error of his ways,--"besides, I may
want to call you by it _some_ day, and then I should be at a loss."

Though by no means proof against so much friendliness, Mr. Desmond still
continues to maintain an injured demeanor. Monica lays one little hand
lightly on his arm.

"Won't you ask me to call you by it?" she says, with the prettiest
reproach.

"Oh, Monica," says the young man, seizing her hand and pressing it
against his heart, "you know your power; be merciful. Darling," drawing
her still nearer to him, "I don't think you quite understand how it is
with me; but, indeed, I love you with all my heart and soul."

"But in such a little time, how can it be true?" says Monica, all her
gayety turning into serious wonderment.

"'Love is a thing as any spirit free,'" quotes he, tenderly. "How shall
one know when the god may come? It has nothing to do with time. I have
seen you,--it little matters how often,--and now I love you. Dear heart,
_try_ to love me."

There is something in his manner both gentle and earnest. Impressed by
it, she whispers softly,--

"I _will_ try."

"And you will call me Brian?"

"Oh, no!--no, indeed!--not yet," entreats she, stepping back from him as
far as he will allow her.

"Very well, not yet."

"And you will go to the Barracks for this dance?"

"I will do anything on earth you ask me. You know that too well, I fear,
for my peace of mind."

"And you won't be angry with me if I don't dance with you there?"

"No. I promise that, too. Ah! here is Miss Kit coming,--and without the
roses,--after all."

It is true she has no roses; she has, indeed, forgotten she even
pretended to want them, and has been happy while away with her song an