"I can look after myself quite well, thank you," said Olive; "my marriage will make no difference to me in that respect." "Make a heap to me, Miss Bellairs. I've been constantly with Carson last six months--got him as a kind of legacy from his father, you know. But I s'pose this marriage'll put me on one side; shall miss the boy awfully." "You are devoted to Mr. Carson?" "Oh, yes; weak beggar, but good sort. Been a kind of father to him, you know. Glad to see him married though, even at m'own cost." "Oh," said Olive, "I hope you will not let me interfere with your friendship in the least." "Must," jerked Semberry, shaking his head. "When a man marries, you know, leaves friends, clings on to his wife. 'Sides, my leave's up soon. I must pull out India way in month or so." "You will stay for the wedding, I hope, Major." "Oh, thanks, s'pose so; must see Carson turned off usual style." Olive was becoming a trifle restive. She soon wearied of trying to manufacture conversation, especially for a man like Semberry, so she seized the first opportunity of slipping away and leaving him to Tui. That young lady's management of the soldier was quite masterly. She was a born flirt, a free-lance of free-lances, all unclaimed hearts came alike to her, and she was ever ready to annex them. But however much occupied she might be in that direction, she ever kept a watchful eye on Aldean. A confession of one-half the interest she really felt in him, would have saved that young gentleman many a wakeful night and many a heartache. But, after the mystic manner of her sex, she was careful to hold her tongue on that particular subject, and poor Jim's powers of penetration were not of the highest order. Hence he was utterly wretched. He assured himself she was a coquette, that she had no heart. He used language which sorely taxed the Recording Angel's supply of asterisks. But still she drew him back, still she tormented him, until he had a mind to turn celibate and retreat to the handiest monastery. Withal he managed to write now and again to Mallow, and to report to him, as best he was able, how Olive looked, what she said, and how she passed her time. The knowledge that Mallow was as miserable as himself was some small comfort to him. Poor Jim took many long walks. He would then repeat to himself such poetry as he remembered, which was not much. Sauntering home in the twilight one evening, flogging his memory for rhymes, as usual, he noticed through a gap in the hedge close by two persons talking together. Closer inspection discovered a man and a woman. The man was Carson. The woman he had never before seen. Carson's arm was about the girl's waist, and she was alternately raging and sobbing, yet with a degree of caution which went to show that the meeting was a stolen one. Neither of them saw Aldean, who did not slacken his pace until he was out of both eyesight and earshot. Then he swore.