Colonel and Mrs. Stone in the course of the following fortnight had occasion twice, as the society columns expressed it, to "entertain at dinner for" Major and Mrs. Oswald Dwight, and Mrs. Dwight was the topic of all tongues at Minneconjou before she had been two days at the post. They arrived on a Saturday evening; were met at the station by the hospitable Stones; driven at once to the quarters of that efficient and valuable commanding officer; were the recipients on Sunday of many calls, the guests of honor at dinner Monday evening, at which function they met three of the senior officers and the adjutant of the Sixty-first, each accompanied by his better half; were again on dinner duty Tuesday evening to meet eight others prominent in the military social swim, and at nine o'clock were escorted to the hop room, where the regimental band and practically all the officers and ladies of the garrison were arrayed to welcome them and where until midnight the dance moved merrily on.

To neither dinner was Mrs. Ray invited. She preferred not to make a formal call on Sunday, and when, accompanied by Priscilla and her eldest son, she appeared at the colonel's quarters on Monday afternoon, Mrs. Dwight and Mrs. Stone had not yet returned from a drive. As little Jim had spent a long hour that morning with his and his own mother's old friend—Dwight himself bringing him over—it is within the bounds of possibility that the drive had been mentioned. The major had remained but a few moments. He was obviously nervous and ill at ease. He had that matter of his change of mind about the quarters to explain, and Marion had desired that he say nothing whatever about it. It was his right. He was bound to consult his wife's wishes before those of any other woman, so why refer to it? But Dwight haplessly stumbled on. There was still something to be said. Mrs. Dwight had expected to have her mother and two cousins with her all summer and September, but Major Farrell found it impossible to leave Mexico after all. Mrs. Farrell could not think of leaving him, especially as his health had suffered very much, thanks to their enforced sojourn in an unsanitary section of old Manila. It appeared that the major was even an applicant for a pension on that ground—a strange proceeding with one so overcharged with mining stock and cattle profits. It might be a month or six weeks yet before the rest of the family came, but Mrs. Dwight was eager to get settled under her own roof where they would be an incumbrance to nobody, and she was going that very day with Mrs. Stone in search of servants. Only a maid had come with them, a maid whose ministrations Inez declared she must have if expected to appear to any advantage in the society to which her husband was accustomed. Mrs. Stone knew of a good cook in town at the hotel whom Mrs. Dwight might tempt away, and then the major had to hurry to the station to superintend the unloading of their car of furniture.

Not until Tuesday night at the reception, therefore, did the Rays meet Mrs. Dwight. Mother and son again came together, Marion in simple evening toilet, Sandy, as required of all officers for that occasion, in full-dress uniform. Mrs. Dwight stood at the colonel's left. The adjutant, facing her, made all the presentations. She was gowned again, as she was that night at Naples, beautifully, extravagantly, and her jewels were, as then, too much in evidence. She had been looking, so remarked her hostess, somewhat pale and sallow during the day, but there was no lack of color, of radiance, of sparkle now. Her face was exquisite in its dark beauty, wondrous in its witchery. Her smile was sweetness itself, and many a woman envied her those perfect teeth rather more than the diamonds. Her soft Southern accent lent a charm of its own to her few words of gracious welcome and acknowledgment. It was noted that she said very little, that she repeated much; but what she said was so sweetly said, and the meaning smile lent so very much more to make it all impressive. Her very attitude was one of supple, sinuous grace, and, whatsoever may have been lacking in the form and variety of her verbal response to Minneconjou's welcome, there could be no warrant for saying that she did not look, at least, her part. Women stood and watched her and marked the play of her slender little hands, the unconscious, languorous use of her beautiful fan, and women marked how alert, too, were the wonderful dark eyes—how, even as they meltingly and feelingly were uplifted to greet each newcomer, they saw each comer before that comer stood in her presence. She was at her best when Mrs. Ray, pausing first to greet Mrs. Stone and the colonel, was passed on to the star of the evening, and the smiling adjutant, with unpremeditated preference in his tone, announced "Mrs. Ray, Mrs. Dwight; your predecessor at the head of our squadron." And then for the first time that night the bride stepped forward, if only a single pace, and, as though her heart went with it, her hand seemed to leap forward in impulsive greeting.

"I have known Mrs. Ray ever since I first met Major Dwight," said she, with such wealth of gladness in her tone. She never seemed to see the young officer standing with pale, unsmiling face, awaiting his turn to be advanced to the presence. "I cannot begin to say how glad I am to meet her—at last," she continued. And Marion Ray, thoroughbred woman of society, if not of the world, stood in quiet, smiling grace and dignity, listening—without a sign of rancor to the swift patter of words from the beautiful lips of the girl who had played havoc with her firstborn's honest young heart, studying the beauty of the newcomer's wondrous face, and wondering, as mothers will, that even a lover could see therein a resemblance to her own daughter—her dark-eyed Maidie. She hoped that by this time Sandy, too, would see that he had been blind. She responded without embarrassment or effort. Not for a royal ransom would she let this fascinator see that her son had ever so far taken her seriously enough to speak, even to his mother, of a possible admiration.

"The major was very long our near neighbor," she said. "And it is good to have him with us again—and to welcome Mrs. Dwight." Then her hand was extended to Major Dwight as, still smiling and chatting, she seemed imperceptibly sidling toward him; and then Sandy emerged into the field of vision. "So glad to see Mrs. Dwight again," said he, in off-hand assumption of jovial indifference. "Gibson's here, you know. He'll be trotting past the grandstand presently." And though the little hand, slipped into his, gave faint, fluttering, tentative pressure, he edged along, yielding place to 'Cilla and Will, the next comers, and precipitated himself on Dwight. There was unmistakable glance of reproach, perhaps even of pain, from those glorious eyes as the young officer passed unfaltering on, but it was instant; it was unseen by the aging and adoring soldier at her side.

And in this wise was the dreaded meeting accomplished with no one possibly the wiser, with no one warned by word or sign of the complications and catastrophes to come.

It took Major Dwight but four or five days to set his own house in order and move his birdling into the pretty cage he had planned for her. Willing hands by dozens, both officers and troopers, had wrought with him in the transformation. Beautiful rugs, carpets, and curtains, rare in army parlors, had been lavishly provided—this, too, despite well-founded rumors that Dwight had no such bank account to-day as that he owned to at Manila. Saying no word upon the subject, Marion Ray had noted, nevertheless, how much more expensive and luxurious were the surroundings of Inez than had been those of wise and provident Margaret Dwight. They gave their first dinner, did the Dwights, one week from the date of Colonel Stone's first, and to this was Marion bidden. She had not expected it, had not provided herself with a previous engagement, had to accept or decline at once, and accepted.

"Mother," said Sandy, coming in at the moment, "have you seen—has anything been seen of a blouse of mine sent home Tuesday evening? I can't find it, yet the troop tailor swears he left it here himself."

"Who received it?" asked Mrs. Ray. "We were all home dressing for the reception."

"Why, that's the queer part of it," was the answer. "He says he found the back door open, knocked twice and nobody answered, so he walked in the kitchen, laid the bundle on the table and came out and shut the door after him."

Mrs. Ray thought a moment. "I gave Sarah permission to be out, and Minnie was up here helping us. That may have accounted for his knock being unanswered. You went down before I did, 'Cilla," she continued, turning to her niece, who was busy at the desk. "Was Sarah back then? I thought I heard you speak to someone."

"To two of the Bible class," said 'Cilla. "They came to say we couldn't have the use of that little room back of the chapel. I don't understand it at all. We offered to clean it out and store the boxes in the cellar, but——" And 'Cilla shrugged her shoulders. She had begun to believe that the chaplain was jealous of her influence over certain intractables in the garrison, and was aiming to thwart her. This view Mrs. Ray could not share. She presently put down her pen and passed out into the dining-room.

"It's a dark little hole at best, Pris," said Sandy, "and I offered you a good bright room at the Exchange—the very one your paragon used for about the same purpose when he was stationed here." Sandy would tilt at his cousin's fad at times, and this was a time, for Sandy had been crotchety for a week.

"My paragon, as you call him—my ideal of the soldier as we saw him after Porto Rico," answered 'Cilla, with dignity and precision, "held his classes there when the rest of the building was not what it is to-day—a rumshop."

"Not a drop of rum to be had on the premises now, Pris—though there might have been then."

"I don't believe it! My general was an ascetic. No one ever heard of his using liquor—and wine is only liquor in another form."

"Come to the library and I'll show you what your General Ascetic wrote of himself after he was so horribly shot in the Sioux campaign. He said he owed his recovery to a winter in California and drinking plenty of good red wine that made blood."

But Priscilla knew that Sandy "had the papers to prove it," and preferred not to see them, lest her ideals come tumbling. "That might have been necessary and by physician's prescription," said she. "What I condemn is its usage when there is no excuse. I should feel that I was enticing my class into temptation if I led them daily to the Canteen, and most of them feel as I do about it. Blenke, for instance—though you don't believe in him, Sandy—when I told him of your offer, he said he would rather not set foot under that roof."

"When was that?" asked Sandy curiously, seeing a chance for a palpable hit. "He was sent to Leavenworth with the guard of those deserters Wednesday morning, and I didn't have it to offer to you until Tuesday afternoon."

"He came that evening to say he was ordered away with the guard detail. Two of my men have gone. You can see for yourself, Sandy, that for any important duty the total abstainer is chosen."

But Mr. Ray did not answer. He was thinking intently. "Was Blenke one of the two you—spoke of, 'Cilla?" he presently asked.

"No. He came by himself just after they'd gone. He took his leave a very few minutes later. We heard you coming down."

"And where did you receive your visitors, Pris?"

"I spoke with them at the rear door—what other place was there? since you dislike my having soldiers come to the house. Why, Sandy Ray! what are you thinking of? You don't mean——"

"Hush!" said Sandy. There were footsteps at the front and laughing voices, and a bang at the gongbell. Minnie, the housemaid, fluttered through the hallway. "Are the ladies at home?" "Mrs. Stone and Mrs. Dwight!" stage-whispered Priscilla, but in an instant Sandy Ray had found his feet and followed his mother, who was interviewing cook at the kitchen door. "Mrs. Stone and Mrs. Dwight," he echoed, waited until Mrs. Ray had gone to greet the callers, then bolted through the sacred precincts of Sarah's own domain and into the afternoon sunshine beyond. There Minnie presently fetched her young master his broad-brimmed campaign hat, wondering why he should look so pale. Making wide detour, Sandy found himself presently within hail of the club. It was but an hour before sunset. The cavalry people were just coming back from stables to supper. There were not five officers on the broad veranda, but among them stood a man in civilian dress, whose back had a strangely familiar look and whose voice, when he whirled about and shouted greeting, sent a thrill of astonishment not unmixed with wrath, nerve racking, through the young soldier's slender frame.

"Hullo, Sandy! Got over being grumpy yet? Come up and see a fellow."

What brought Stanley Foster, of all men, here to Minneconjou now?