Your father thought him a prodigal with his money, but, of course, some fault must be found with every man who looks at Anita." [Illustration: "Don't call your father 'the poor old chap,'" said Mrs.
Fortescue positively.] "But Anita is so young--a chit, a child." "She is not quite three years younger than you," replied Mrs.Fortescue.
"This notion that Anita is a child and must be treated as such is ridiculous.

Why, when I was Anita's age, I had had a dozen love affairs." "Did no one ever tell you, mother, that you are a born coquette, and you will be coquettish at ninety, if you live to bless us so long ?" Mrs.Fortescue laughed the soft, musical laugh that was a part of her armory of charms, and made no reply.
At dinner that night Beverley suddenly began to ask questions about Broussard, praising his horsemanship, but wanting to know what kind of a fellow he was.

The Colonel spoke guardedly and damned Broussard with faint praise, as he would any man whom he thought likely to rob him of his one ewe lamb; yet the Colonel thought himself a just man.
The eloquent blood leaped into Anita's cheeks, and there was something like resentment in her eyes at the Colonel's cool commendation.

After dinner she took Beverley into the garden, and the brother and sister walked up and down in the moonlight, and Anita, thinking she was keeping her secret, revealed everything to Beverley.

Broussard was the finest young officer, the most beautiful horseman, he could sing Koerner's Battle Hymn as no one else could, and when she played a violin obligato to his songs of love---- Anita stopped short, and turned her long-lashed eyes full on Beverley.
"Daddy doesn't do justice to Mr.Broussard," she said, "but you ought to have seen the way he grasped Mr.Broussard's hands after the music ride." Colonel and Mrs.Fortescue, sitting in the cool, dim drawing-room, heard Beverley's laughter floating in from the garden.