"But or no but," said Dean, "it's done now, and I'd do it again." There was no dinner party at Folsom's that evening. At two a messenger trotted out to the post with a note for Miss Folsom to apprise her of the fact, and without a word or change of color she put it into her pocket. The garrison girls were bent on having them spend the afternoon, but presently Miss Folsom found a moment in which to signal to Jess, and at three they were driving home. "You will surely come out this evening and hear the music and have a dance," were the parting salutations, as with skillful hands the young girl took up the reins. "We hope to," was her smiling answer. Jess was clinging to her brother's hand as he stood by the wheel, and Loomis had already clambered in beside her. "Please come, Marshall," pleaded Jessie; but he shook his head. "I must be at camp this evening, sister mine. We go to stables in an hour. You will come back, Loomis?" "As soon as I've seen--" and a significant nod supplied the ellipsis. Something ominous was in the wind and both girls knew it. Loomis, usually gay and chatty, was oddly silent, as the light, covered wagon sped swiftly homeward. Beside the fair charioteer sat a young officer of the infantry who, vastly rejoicing that Dean could not go, had laughingly possessed himself of the vacant place, and to him Miss Folsom had to talk. But they parted from their escorts at the gate and hastened within doors. Just as Elinor expected, papa had not come home. It was nearly six when she saw him striding slowly and thoughtfully up the road, and she met him at the gate. "Tell me what has happened, Daddy," was her quiet greeting, as she linked her hands over his burly arm, and looking into her uplifted, thoughtful eyes, so full of intelligence and deep affection, he bent and kissed her cheek. "By Jove, daughter, I believe it's the best thing I can do. Come into the library."