Another interval of silence ensued. "I blame Baynell for all this," said Seymour, sullenly. "Why? Is he a rival?" "No. But it was not at all serious--I wasn't so dead gone, I mean--when I wanted him to take me to the Roscoes'. If I had had some other place to visit--some other people to know--some distraction of a reasonable social circle, she couldn't have brought me to such a--a--" "--state of captivity," suggested Ashley. "Well, you know, seeing nobody else of one's own sort--and a charming girl--and nothing to do but to watch her sing--and hear her talk--and all the other men wild about her--and--it's--it's--" "You'll forget it all before long," suggested the consolatory Ashley. "You know we are here to-day and gone to-morrow, in a sense that General Orders make less permanent than Scripture. If the word should come to break camp and march--how little you would be thinking of Miss Fisher." "I suppose you were never in love, Ashley," Seymour said, a trifle drearily, adding mentally, "except with yourself!" "I!" exclaimed Ashley, twirling his mustache. "Oh, I have had my sad experiences, too--but I have survived them--and partially forgotten them." "I have no interest now in going to the Roscoes'. Mrs. Fisher offered to introduce me. She and Miss Millie are going there to-morrow to some sort of a sewing-circle--they just want an officer's escort through the suburbs, I know. That sewing-circle is a fraud, and ought to be interdicted. They pretend to sew and knit for the hospitals here and Confederate prisoners, and I feel sure they smuggle the lint and clothes and supplies through the lines to Rebels openly in arms. I hate to go." "Well, now, I'll engage to eat all the homespun cotton shirts that Miss Fisher ever makes for the Rebel in arms, or any other man. You need have no punctilio on that score." "Oh, it isn't that. I hate to meet Baynell--what is he staying on there for? He is as rugged now as ever in his life. Is he in love with the widow?" "He has a queer way of showing it if he is." And Ashley detailed the circumstance of the impressing of the horse. Seymour listened with a look of searching, keen intentness.