Magnus stepped over to a side table and brought the young lady a glass of sparkling cold water. Miss Freak promptly handed it back. "What did you bring that for?" she asked. "I didn't say water, man alive!" "Best thing I know, when you are thirsty," said Magnus. "Try it once." "Try it once," the girl repeated mockingly. "Do you suppose I never have?" "She wants punch," remarked Miss Saucy. "She thinks she does." "She _knows_ she does," said Miss Freak, with a stamp of her little foot. "You'd better believe she knows what she wants." "I never heard that ladies could not be mistaken, did you?" said Magnus provokingly. "Mrs. Beguile! Mrs. Beguile!" called out Miss Freak, "here's one of your guests very rude to me!" "What is it, Freaky?" asked the good lady, bustling up. "Rude to you? Oh, I guess not. Mr. Kindred will take care of you." "If she will let me." "Why, he's the very man!" said Miss Freak. "I want some punch, and he'll not get it for me." "Not get it for you, dear?" "Doused me with cold water," said the young lady, pouting. "Doused you!" Mrs. Beguile looked at the pink draperies, which gave no sign of such heroic treatment; then she turned to Magnus. "I am trying to take care of her, Mrs. Beguile," Magnus said. The good lady looked at him,--the clean, clear face, the bright eyes; looked across to the great punch bowl, where the ladling and quaffing went ceaselessly on, her own boys among the crowd, and a shadow fell on her placid face. "Do you drink nothing but water yourself, Mr. Kindred?" "Nothing, ma'am." "Not even punch?" "No, ma'am." Another look went across the room, and then Mrs. Beguile said with a half sigh: "Freaky, if I were you, I'd let him take care of me as he thinks best; and of himself, too. You are a brave man, Mr. Kindred." "'The Lord cover his head in the day of battle,'" said a low voice behind Magnus. He turned quickly, but perhaps the speaker had turned too, for he saw no sign. "I thought you wouldn't fight?" said Miss Lane, laughing up at him. As for Miss Freak, she pouted, and made believe cry; and Randolph darted over to the great bowl, coming back with a glass of punch in each hand, one for his own companion and one for Miss Freak. "Such airs!" commented portly Mrs. Chose, sailing by. "Setting himself up above the rest of the world. Just the way with those West Pointers. I told you so, Miranda; more strut than sense. I'll never take you to West Point again." "Oh, yes you will," said Miss Miranda cheerfully, "because I'm going. Give me the strut, every time." "I admire your courage, Mr. Kindred," said another lady; "it is quite touching in so young a man. But I am always sorry to see a fine thing wasted, thrown away: misdirected zeal, you know, for instance. You cannot think for a moment that one of those small glasses of punch could affect a person in any way?"