incentives, the other found despair--a despair that issued in excuses and
denied high standards. And the finer mind belonged to the finer soldier;
that she knew, for Gertie had told her General Punnit's story, and,
however much she might discount it as the tale of an elderly martinet,
yet it stood for something, for something that could never be attributed
to Alec Naylor.

And yet, for her mind traveled back to her earlier talk by the tennis
court, Beaumaroy had a conscience, had feelings. He was fond of old Mr.
Saffron; he felt a responsibility for him, felt it, indeed, keenly. Or
was he, under all that seeming openness, a consummate hypocrite? Did he
value Mr. Saffron only as a milk cow, the doting giver of a large
salary? Was his only desire to humor him, keep him in good health and
temper, and use him to his own profit? A puzzling man, but, at all
events, cutting a poor figure beside Alec Naylor, about whom there could
circle no clouds of doubt. Doctor Mary's learning and gravity did not
prevent her from drawing a very heroic and rather romantic figure of
Captain Alec--notwithstanding that she sometimes found him rather hard
to talk to.

She felt Cynthia's arm steal around her waist, and Cynthia said softly,
"I did enjoy my afternoon. Can we go again soon, Mary?"

Mary glanced at her. Cynthia laughed and blushed. "Isn't he splendid?"
Cynthia murmured. "But I don't like Mr. Beaumaroy, do you?"

"I say yes to the first question, but I'm not quite ready to answer the
second," said Mary with a laugh.

Three days later, on Christmas Eve, one whom Jeanne, who caught sight of