sting out of her words; though why she
said it puzzles even herself: nevertheless there is great truth, in her
remark, and he knows it.

"Then Philip is handsome," she says: "it is quite a pleasure to look at
him. And I admire him very much."

"He _is_ a good-looking fellow," reluctantly, and as though it
were a matter of surprise nature's having bestowed beauty upon Philip
Shadwell, "but surly."

"'Surly!' not to me."

"Oh, of course not to you! A man must be a brute to be uncivil to a
woman. And I don't say he is that," slowly, and as though it were yet
an undecided point whether Philip should be classed with the lower
creation or not. "Do not let your admiration for him go too far,
darling; remember----"

"About that," interrupts she, hurriedly, "you have something to
remember also. Your promise to keep our engagement a dead secret. You
will not break it?"

"I never," a little stiffly, "break a promise. You need not have
reminded me of this one."

Silence.

Glancing up at her companion stealthily, Molly can see his lips are in
a degree compressed, and that for the first time since their reunion
his eyes are turned determinedly from her. Her heart smites her. So
good as he is to her, she has already hurt and wounded him.

With a little caressing, tender movement, she rubs her cheek up and
down against his sleeve for a moment or two, and then says, softly:

"Are you cross with me, Teddy? Don't then. I am so glad, so happy, to
have you with me again. Do not spoil this one good hour by putting a
nasty unbecoming little frown upon your forehead. Come, turn your face
to me again: when you look at me, I know you will smile, for my sake."

"My own darling," says Luttrell, passionately.

* * * * *

The morrow brings new faces, and Herst is still further enlivened by
the arrival of two men from some distant barracks,--one so tall, and
the other so diminutive, as to call for an immediate joke about "the
long and the short of it."

Captain Mottie is a jolly, genial little soul, with a perpetual look on
all occasions as though he couldn't help it, and just one fault, a
fatal tendency toward punning of the weakest description with which he
hopes in vain to excite the risibility of his intimates. Having a mind
above disappointment, however, he feels no depression on marking the
invariable silence that follows his best efforts, and, with a
perseverance worthy of a better ca