“‘The Tenth Cavalry were there!’

“She seemed rather excited for a moment—­not unpleasantly—­but when I ventured to ask her a question, she had quite forgotten it all.

“I meant to thank you for sending me the revolver and cartridges.  It seemed a silly request, but we are in a rather lonely place, and I think Miss Bond and I feel a little safer knowing that, in case of necessity, we have something to frighten away any roaming intruder who might take it into his head to visit us.

“One thing we must be careful about:  yesterday Mrs. Ruthven had a doll on my bed, and I sat sewing by the window, not noticing what she was doing until I heard her pretty, pathetic little laugh.

“And what do you think she had done?  She had discovered your revolver under my pillow, and she had tied her handkerchief around it, and was using it as a doll!

     “I got it away with a little persuasion, but at times she still
     asks for her ‘army’ doll—­saying that a boy she knew, named Philip,
     had sent it to her from Manila, where he was living.

“This, Captain Selwyn, is all the news.  I do not think she will begin to fret for you again for some time.  At first, you remember, it was every other day, then every three or four days.  It has now been a week since she asked for you.  When she does I will, as usual, telegraph you.

     “With many thanks for your kindness to us all, “Very respectfully
     yours,

     “Mary Casson.”

Selwyn read this letter sitting before the fire in the living-room, feet on the fender, pipe between his teeth.  It was the first day of absolute rest he had had in a long while.

The day before he had been at the Hook until almost dark, watching the firing of a big gun, and the results had been so satisfactory that he was venturing to give himself a holiday—­unless wanted at Edgewater.

But the morning had brought this letter; Alixe was contented and comfortable.  So when Boots, after breakfast, went off to his Air Line office, Selwyn permitted himself the luxury of smoking-jacket and slippers, and settled down before the fire to reread the letter and examine the enclosed bills, and ponder and worry over them at his ease.  To have leisure to worry over perplexities was something; to worry in such luxury as this seemed something so very near to happiness that as he refolded the last bill for household expenses he smiled faintly to himself.

Boots’s three tabby-cats were disposed comfortably before the blaze, fore paws folded under, purring and blinking lazily at the grate.  All around were evidences of Boots’s personal taste in pretty wall-paper and hangings, a few handsome Shiraz rugs underfoot, deep, comfortable chairs, low, open bookcases full of promising literature—­the more promising because not contemporary.

Selwyn loved such a room as this—­where all was comfort, and nothing in the quiet, but cheerful, ensemble disturbed the peaceful homeliness.