brought to Mrs. Wittleday's handsome parlors a few gentlemen and ladies,
and a large number of good people, who, with all the heroism of a
forlorn hope, were doing their best to appear at ease and happy.

The major and lieutenant were there, of course, and both in uniform, by
special request of the hostess. The major, who had met Mrs. Wittleday in
city society before her husband's death, and who had maintained a
bowing-acquaintance with her during her widowhood, gravely presented the
lieutenant to Mrs. Wittleday, made a gallant speech about the debt
society owed to her for again condescending to smile upon it, and then
presented his respects to the nearest of the several groups of ladies
who were gazing invitingly at him.

Then he summoned the lieutenant (whose reluctance to leave Mrs.
Wittleday's side was rendered no less by a bright smile which that lady
gave him as he departed), and made him acquainted with ladies of all
ages, and of greatly varying personal appearance. The young warrior went
through the ordeal with only tolerable composure, and improved his first
opportunity to escape and regain the society of the hostess. Two or
three moments later, just as Mrs. Wittleday turned aside to speak to
stately old Judge Bray, the lieutenant found himself being led rapidly
toward the veranda. The company had not yet found its way out of the
parlors to any extent, so the major locked the lieutenant's arm in his
own, commenced a gentle promenade, and remarked:

"Fred, my boy, you're making an ass of yourself."

"Oh, nonsense, major," answered the young man, with considerable
impatience. "I don't want to know all these queer, old-fashioned people;
they're worse than a lot of plebes at West Point."