"Why don't I? Really, I do not know, sir. Young, strong, and able, an idle fellow enough. I think it must be because it hurts, and I'm a dreadfully selfish fellow." What reply could be made to his careless, easy tones? And the talk drifted smoothly on--the more smoothly, perhaps, since no one believed a word that he said, for Keith Endicott ere this had earned the name of the soul of bravery and honor; but Dorris dropped to the ground the roses that had lain all this time in her lap, as if an unseen thorn had wounded her, and, rising, went away to her own cosey room, where she flung herself into an arm-chair and fell into a deep study, looking from her window through the trees to where the blue waters of the Charles gleamed and rippled in the sunlight. It was a lovely spot, this home of her aunt in the suburbs of Boston,--a home which Dorris had called her own since her parents' death, years before, when she and her brother had been confided to her aunt's tender care. And Dorris loved every spot of this rambling, old, colonial mansion, from its spacious ballroom, and its wide porches, to her own room, with its faded tapestry hangings, its great fireplace and bright brass andirons, its hanging book-shelves with their store of well-chosen volumes, the English titles varied here and there by a Latin or French classic (for Dorris had studied with her brother, and was quite proficient in both languages; indeed, L'Estrange delighted in calling her a _bas-bleu_ in a vain attempt to tease her), its tall, brass-handled secretary with its secret drawer, which Dorris called so tantalizing, because she had no secret to hide in its depths, and the eight-day clock ticking away in the corner, which now struck the hour, waking Dorris from her revery into words:-- "I wonder why he does not go: he is no coward; it is not that. I verily believe it is as he said: he is selfish, and does not want the trouble. How he laughs, and disbelieves in everybody, even himself! and what a narrow life he must lead! And yet, sometimes I think better, as I needs must, of my old playmate. Just now he spoke to me with real feeling, and truly, it was a sweet and comforting thought he offered me. And yet the other day, after church, when Gen. Brewster spoke so cordially to Henri L'Estrange and Lieut. Allen, and then bestowed rather a contemptuous glance on Keith,--I mean Mr. Endicott,--I caught him quoting, under his breath, 'The world is a farce, and its favors are follies; but farces and follies are very dear to human hearts.' I could not help saying, 'When its favors are well-earned I think they cease to be follies.' It was, at the best, bad taste to cavil in that way at Henri, who is so brave and enthusiastic, and has come all the way from his own and his father's native France because his mother's land needed brave, true men. And he is going away next week; if he could only send us news of Roy!"