Her beloved white dove fluttered, unnoticed, about her white-shod feet.

When the glass door opened and Colonel and Mrs.Fortescue entered the little glass room, both Anita and Broussard started violently--a sign of captive love.
Mrs.Fortescue was gracious, merely because she could not help it, and the Colonel treated Broussard with the elaborate courtesy which a Colonel shows to a subaltern and which makes the subaltern look and feel the size of the head of a pin.

Naturally, Broussard hastened his leave-taking and received no invitation to remain, except from Anita's eyes, shy and long-lashed.
When the Colonel and Mrs.Fortescue and Anita were sitting at the softly-shaded round table in the dining-room, Anita's chair was close to her father's--the two were never far apart when they could be close together.

Mrs.Fortescue wore around her white throat a locket with a miniature in it of her boy soldier.

He was to her what Anita was to the Colonel, but being a stout-hearted woman she had sent her son away to be a soldier and had worn a smile at parting.