ut, eagerly. "You will wed him, won't you? Our
cousin Ormond says he will if you will. And I'll tell Sir George that
it's just a family matter, and, besides, he's too old--"

"Yes, tell Sir George that," sneered Ruyven, who had listened in an
embarrassment that certainly Dorothy had not betrayed. "You're a great
fool, Harry. Don't you know that when people want to wed they ask each
other's permission to ask each other's father, and then their fathers
ask each other, and then they ask each--"

"Other!" cried Dorothy, laughing deliciously. "Oh, Ruyven, Ruyven, you
certainly will be the death of me!"

"All the same," said Harry, sullenly, "our cousin wishes to wed you."

"Do you?" asked Dorothy, raising her amused eyes to me.

"I fear I come too late," I said, forcing a smile I was not inclined to.

"Ah, yes; too late," she sighed, pretending a doleful mien.

"Why?" demanded Harry, blankly.

Dorothy shook her head. "Sir George would never permit me such a
liberty. If he would, our cousin Ormond and I could wed at once; you see
I have my bride's stockings here; Cecile could do my hair, Sammy carry
my prayer-book, Benny my train, Ruyven read the service--"

Harry, flushing at the shout of laughter, gave Dorothy a dark look,
turned and eyed me, then scowled again at Dorothy.

"All the same," he said, slowly, "you're a great goose not to wed
him.... And you'll be sorry ... when he's dead!"

At this veiled prophecy of my approaching dissolution, all were silent
save Dorothy and Ruyven, whose fresh laughter rang out peal on peal.

"Laugh," said Harry, gloomily; "but you won't laugh when he's killed in
the war, ... and scalped, too."

Ruyven, suddenly sober, looked up at me. Dorothy bent over her
needle-work and examined it attentively.

"Are you going to the war?" asked Cecile, plaintively.

"Of course he's going; so am I," replied Ruyven, striking a careless
pose against a pillar.

"On which side, Ruyven?" inquired Dorothy, sorting her silks.

"On my cousin's side, of course," he said, uneasily.

"Which side is that?" asked Cecile.

Confused, flushing painfully, the boy looked at me; and I rescued him,
saying, "We'll talk that over when we ride bounds this afternoon. Ruyven
and I understand each other, don't we, Ruyven?"

He gave me a grateful glance. "Yes," he said, shyly.

Sir George Covert, a trifle pallid, but bland and urbane, strolled out
to the porch, saluting us gracefully. He paused beside Dorot