wavy hair,--almost raven,--was a devoted lover, though fully fifteen
years Miss Nellie's senior.

Full of bliss and comfort was Mrs. Rayner's soul as she journeyed
westward to rejoin her husband at the distant frontier post she had not
seen since the early spring. Army woman as she was, born and bred under
the shadow of the flag, a soldier's daughter, a soldier's wife, she had
other ambitions for her beautiful Nell. Worldly to the core, she herself
would never have married in the army but for the unusual circumstance of
a wealthy subaltern among the officers of her father's regiment.
Tradition had it that Mr. Rayner was not among the number of those who
sighed for Kate Travers's guarded smiles. Her earlier victims were kept
a-dangling until Rayner, too, succumbed, and then were sent adrift. She
meant that no penniless subaltern should carry off her "baby
sister,"--they had long been motherless,--and a season at the sea-shore
had done her work well. Steven Van Antwerp, with genuine distress and
loneliness, went back to his duties in Wall Street after seeing them
safely on their way to the West. "Guard her well for me," he whispered
to Mrs. Rayner. "I dread those fellows in buttons." And he shivered
unaccountably as he spoke.

Nellie was pledged, therefore, and this youth in the Pullman was not one
of "those fellows in buttons," so far as Mrs. Rayner knew, but she was
ready to warn him off, and meant to do so, until, to her surprise, she
saw that he gave no symptom of a desire to approach. By noon of the
second day she was as determined to extract from him some sign of
interest as she had been determined to resent it. I can in no wise
explain or account for this. The fact is stated without remark.

"What on earth can we be stopping so long here for?" was Mrs. Rayner's