uns. Has Ann another name? Do I know her?"

Katie was bending down inspecting a tear she had discovered at the bottom
of her dress. "Oh yes, why yes, certainly, Ann has another name. Her name
is Forrest. No, I think you do not know her. I don't know that Ann knows
many army people. I knew her in Europe." Then, as they seemed waiting for
more: "I am very fond of Ann."

She had resumed her seat and the critical examination of her coffee
spoon. The men were silent, respecting the moment of tender contemplation
of her fondness for Ann. "Ann is a dear girl," she volunteered at last.

"Having had it impressed upon me that I am such a duffer," Captain Jones
began, a little haughtily, "I naturally hesitate to make many inquiries,
but I cannot quite get it through my stupid and impossible head just why
'Ann' is hidden away in this mysterious manner."

"There's nothing mysterious about it," said Kate sharply. "Ann was
tired."

"And why, if I may venture still another blundering question, was poor
Nora held responsible for a cough she never coughed?"

Once more Miss Jones surveyed the torn ruffle at the bottom of her skirt.
She seemed to be giving it serious consideration.

"I am glad that I do not live in the Mississippi Valley," was the remark
she finally raised herself to make.

"One of Kate's greatest charms," Wayne informed Prescott, "is the
emphasis and assurance with which she unfailingly produces the
irrelevant. Now when you ask her if she likes Benedictine, don't be at
all surprised to have her dreamily murmur: 'But why should oranges always
be yellow?'"

"I am glad that I do not live in the Mississippi Valley," Kate went on,
superiorly ignoring the observation, "because the joy of living seems to
be at a very low ebb out here."

"Honestly now, do you get that?" he demanded of his friend.

"Ann and I had planned a beautiful surprise for you, Wayne."

"Thanks," said Wayne drily.

"To-night Ann was tired. She did not wish to come down to dinner. Of
course, I might have told you: 'Ann is here.' To the orderly,
West-Pointed mind, the well oiled, gun-constructing mind, I presume that
would present itself as the thing to do. But Ann and I have a sense of
the joy of living, a delight in the festive, in the--the bubbling wine of
youth, you know. So we said, 'How beautiful to surprise dear Wayne.' In
the morning Ann, refreshed by the long night's sleep, was to go out and
gather roses. Wayne--"

"The roses don't bl