They were in the library over their coffee. Kate was peculiarly charming
that night in one of the thin white gowns she wore so much, and which it
seemed so fitting she should wear. She had been her gayest. Prescott was
thinking he had never known any one who seemed to sparkle and bubble that
way; and so easily and naturally, as though it came from an inner fount
of perpetual action, and could more easily rise than be held down. And he
was wondering why a girl who had so many of the attributes of a boy
should be so much more fascinating than any mere girl. "There are two
kinds of girl," he had heard an older officer once say. "There are girls,
and then there is Katie Jones." He had condemned that as distinctly
maudlin at the time, but recalled it to-night with less condemnation.

"Katie," exclaimed Wayne, after his sister had read aloud some one's
engagement from the Army and Navy Register, and wondered vehemently how
those two people ever expected to live together, "Nora's out on the side
porch with Watts!"

"Do you disapprove of this affair between Nora and Watts?" Katie wanted
to know, critically inspecting the design on her coffee spoon.

"I distinctly disapprove of having some one coughing in the room upstairs
and not being satisfied who the some one is!"

She leaned forward, pointing her spoon at him earnestly. "Wayne, they say
there are some excellent nerve specialists in Chicago. I'd advise you to
take the night train. Take the rifle along, Wayne, and find out just what
it's done to you."

"That's all very well! But if you'd been reading the papers lately you'd