He hired a parlour and two bedrooms for us all at the St Nicholas. 'Purty middlin' steep!' he said to me as we left the office. 'It is, sartin! but I don't care--not a bit. When folks has to hev a good time they've got t' hev it. We were soon seated in our little parlour. There was a great glow of health and beauty in Hope's face. It was a bit fuller but had nobler outlines and a colouring as delicate as ever. She wore a plain grey gown admirably fitted to her plump figure. There was a new and splendid 'dignity in her carriage, her big blue eyes, her nose with its little upward slant. She was now the well groomed young woman of society in the full glory of her youth. Uncle Eb who sat between us pinched her cheek playfully. A little spot of white showed a moment where his fingers had been. Then the pink flooded over it. 'Never see a girl git such a smack as you did,' he said laughing. 'Well,' said she, smiling, 'I guess I gave as good as I got.' 'Served him right,' he said. 'You kissed back good 'n hard. Gran sport!' he added turning to me. 'Best I ever had,' was my humble acknowledgement. 'Seldom ever see a girl kissed so powerful,' he said as he took Hope's hand in his. 'Now if the Bible said when a body kissed ye on one cheek ye mus' turn if other I wouldn't find no fault. But ther's a heap o differ'nce 'tween a whack an' a smack. When we had come back from dinner Uncle Eb drew off his boots and sat comfortably in his stocking feet while Hope told of her travels and I of my soldiering. She had been at the Conservatory, nearly the whole period of her absence, and hastened home when she learned of the battle and of my wound. She had landed two days before. Hope's friend and Uncle Eb went away to their rooms in good season. Then I came and sat beside Hope on the sofa. 'Let's have a good talk,' I said. There was an awkward bit of silence. 'Well,' said she, her fan upon her lips, 'tell me more about the war. 'Tired of war,' I answered; 'love is a better subject. She rose and walked up and down the room, a troubled look in her face. I thought I had never seen a woman who could carry her head so proudly. 'I don't think you are very familiar with it,' said she presently. 'I ought to be,' I answered, 'having loved you all these years. 'But you told me that--that you loved another girl,' she said, her elbow leaning on the mantel, her eyes looking down soberly. 'When? Where?' I asked. 'In Mrs Fuller's parlour.' 'Hope,' I said, 'you misunderstood me; I meant you. She came toward me, then, looking up into my eyes. I started to embrace her but she caught my hands and held them apart and came close to me. 'Did you say that you meant me?' she asked in a whisper. 'I did.' 'Why did you not tell me that night? 'Because you would not listen to me and we were interrupted. 'Well if I loved a girl,' she said, 'I'd make her listen.' 'I would have done that but Mrs Fuller saved you.'