mine. I'm to marry you, EM. You don't know it, because you once loved
NAOMI, who 'mawrwried the Wrevewrend SOLOMON'"--at this point most
of the Purple Dragoons were rude enough to yawn openly. She paid no
attention to them--"and now you love OLIVE, but she loves PARKACK,
and he doesn't love her, so she has got to marry PARKOSS, whom she
doesn't love. Their initials are the same, and everybody knows their
caligraphy is exactly alike," she went on wearily, "so that's how the
mistake arose. It's a bit far-fetched, but," and her arch smile as she
said this would have melted a harder heart than Captain EMILY's, "we
mustn't be too particular in a soldier's tale, you know."

As she concluded her remarks the door opened, and Colonel PURSER
entered the room.

CHAPTER III.

"Pat a cake, pat a cake, baker's man."
--_Old Ballad_.

Colonel PURSER was a stout, plethoric man. He was five feet seven
inches high, forty-five inches round the chest, fifty inches round
the waist, and every inch of him was a soldier. He was, therefore, a
host in himself. He gasped, and turned red, but, like a real soldier,
at once grasped the situation. The Colonel was powerful, and the
situation, in spite of all my pains, was not a strong one. The
struggle was short.

"Pardon me," said the Colonel, when he had recovered his wind, "is
your name MIGNON?"