"Now, Betty," he said, "I have come here to have you fix the day when we shall be married. I don't believe in long engagements, and never meant to have one. My special duty will end in the spring, and then we must be married." Betty's eyes grew troubled. What should she say? How could she leave the Colonel? Something like this she stammered out. Fortescue met it impatiently. He believed in her doing her duty by the Colonel, but, man-like, he thought that Betty must do her duty by him first. There was no question of money. Fortescue had enough to do as he pleased. "Make the Colonel comfortable any way you like," he said. "Let him stay at Holly Lodge or go to Rosehill. My father has given me the place, and some day, when I am a retired major-general, Betty, we shall live there, you and I and our children. But we must come to a positive arrangement now." Fortescue's tone displeased Betty. He was too confident, too much in the way of giving orders, a thing which Betty herself was accustomed to doing. It cannot be denied that Betty was a little spoiled and rather haughty. Her reply to Fortescue displeased him even more than his words had displeased her. "I think," she said coldly, "that you are taking too much for granted. Some one must be considered as well as yourself." This was a most unlucky speech. Fortescue's reply was a retaliation. They were only twenty-one and twenty-six, and although they had far more of feeling, strength, depth, and steadiness of character than young persons usually have, they were no wiser or more experienced than most young things. Some words followed, impetuous and domineering on Fortescue's part, exasperatingly cool on Betty's. They were both keen of wit, and readily surmised the meaning of sharp phrases. Fortescue's feelings were quick, and Betty had a tidy little temper of her own. Suddenly, they knew not how or when or why, but they were walking back toward Holly Lodge in the crisp winter morning, each with a resentful heart. Their first meeting as confessed sweethearts had developed into a serious quarrel. It was not about those trifling things that arise between young lovers, and which bring tears and reproaches, and then end in forgiveness, but it concerned a grave matter, the regulation of their future lives and their mutual obligations, one to the other. The question of what was to become of the Colonel had seemed so easy to settle when they had considered it on the far-off horizon. Now, when it came close to them, it assumed a dangerous aspect. The rash and inexperienced Betty thought that it must be settled according to her ideas, and that Fortescue must wait until the Colonel was coaxed into saying what he would do in the premises. Fortescue, with a much better idea of the vicissitudes of an officer's life, saw that Betty's plans and compromises and dovetailings of duty were impracticable, and told her so. The bitterest quarrels on earth are those between a man and