I observed that that was an odd doctrine with which to begin married life, but she laughed at me, and said the cases were altogether different. Nevertheless, when Tuesday also passed, and no word from her adorer, Lisabel looked a little less easy. Not unhappy, our Lis was never seen unhappy since she was born, but just a little what we women call "fidgety;" a state of mind, the result of which generally affects other people rather than ourselves. In short, the mood for which, as children, we are whipped and sent to bed as "naughty;" as young women, petted, and pitied for "low spirits;" as elderly people, humoured on account of "nerves." On Wednesday morning when the post came, and brought no letter, Lisabel declared she would stay indoors no longer, but would go out for a drive. "To the camp, as usual?" said Penelope. Lisa laughed, and protested she should drive wherever she liked. "Girls, will you come or not?" Penelope declined, shortly. I said, I would go anywhere except to the camp, which I thought decidedly objectionable under the circumstances. "Dora, don't be silly. But do just as you like. I can call at the Cedars for Miss Emery." "And Colin too, who will be exceedingly happy to go with you," suggested Penelope. But the sneer was wasted. Lisabel laughed again, smoothed her collar at the glass, and left the parlour, looking as contented as ever. Ere she went out, radiant in her new hat and feathers, her blue cloth jacket, and her dainty little driving-gloves (won in a bet with Captain Treherne), she put her head in at my door, where I was working at German, and trying to forget all these follies and annoyances. "You'll not go, then?" I shook my head, and asked when she intended to be back? "Probably at lunch: or I may stay dinner at the Cedars. Just as it happens. Good bye." "Lisabel," I cried, catching her by the shoulders, "what are you going to do?" "I told you. Oh, take care of my feather! I shall drive over to the Cedars." "Any further? To the Camp?" "It depends entirely upon circumstances." "Suppose you should meet him?" "Captain Treherne? I shall bow politely, and drive on." "And what if he comes here in your absence?" "My compliments and regrets that unavoidable engagements deprived me of the pleasure of seeing him." "Lisabel, I don't believe you have a bit of heart in you." "Oh, yes, I have; quite as much as is convenient." Mine was full, and she saw it. She patted me on the shoulder good-naturedly. "If there ever was a dear little dolt, its name is Theodora Johnston. Why, child, at the worst, what harm am I doing? Merely showing a young fellow, who, I must say, is behaving rather badly, that I am not breaking my heart about him, nor mean to do it." "But I thought you liked him?"