The last night of all there was a large gathering of young people at the house of Mrs. Beguile, and of course the West Pointers were petted and wondered over to their hearts' content. In fact Magnus had more of it than he wanted; he grew tired of being asked for bell buttons, and telling how often he had his hair cut. McLean enjoyed it, and Randolph could never have too many girls around, even if the fair creatures had to stand on tiptoe and peep over each other's shoulders. But Mr. Kindred was in a very critical mood, thinking of Cherry; and found himself comparing necks and shoulders on every hand. He was saying stringent things to himself anent one of the prodigal owners, when Mrs. Beguile touched him on the arm. "I do not wonder you are lost in admiration," she said, following his eyes, which were just then fixed on the youngest Miss Fashion; an extremely handsome young lady, too much of whose dress seemed to have slid down to the floor in a mass of curling frills and furbelows. "Like Venus rising from the sea, is she not, Mr. Kindred, with her white foamy draperies?" Magnus considered this rendering. "Why did Venus rise from the sea?" he asked abruptly. But now Mrs. Beguile looked at him. "Why?" she repeated. "Dear me! how should I know? I'm not the least bit classical. Because she liked to, I suppose. But my dear Mr. Kindred, as our great poet has beautifully remarked, 'Life is a business, not good cheer.' Will you come with me and make yourself useful?" "What an opening--to a man who has been totally useless for the last four days!" Magnus answered, as he followed his hostess to the supper room. "But if your poet had seen that table, Mrs. Beguile, he would have written down life to be good cheer and not business--couldn't help it, you know; it would have confused his mind to that extent." Mrs. Beguile took this as a great joke, and went about repeating it. "Cadets have such pretty ways of saying things," she remarked. "Oh, Busy, here's Mr. Kindred. You used to see him at West Point, you know, and he's just as nice as ever." Poor little Miss Bee! Did she need to be assured of that? But she bore herself gallantly, was just glad enough and not too glad to see him, gave one thought to her dress--so unfashionably high and plain--and never found out with what deep approval Cadet Kindred noticed its modest cut and simple trimmings. "Cherry might ask her to be one of the bridesmaids," he thought. Poor little Mabel! "Say, Kin," Rig confided to him as he went by with Miss Flirt's empty plate; "just two things not here, cast-iron pancakes, and 'Sammy.'" "And the first captain," added Randolph, "yelling out 'Battalion, rise!' before we're half through." "What do you think of this, for Commissary beef?" quoth Twinkle, devouring a sandwich in blissful ignorance of its component parts. "Mr. Kindred! Mr. Kindred!" called out Miss Freak from a window seat behind him; "do please get me a glass of punch. I'm just dying with thirst."