"So," she went on, slowly, "this evening I told Captain Lancaster all about it." She blushed at the remembrance of some other things she had told him--things she had not meant to tell, but which had slipped out, as it were, in her compunction at her rudeness to him. "And--that was all? Was he not making love to you, really?" cried the lieutenant, still uneasy at the remembrance of that impulsive hand-clasp that had so amazed him. She flashed her great eyes at him in superb anger. "Love to me--he would not dare!" breathlessly. "I'm nothing to him, nothing to you--never shall be! Please remember that! Once I reach my aunt, neither of you need ever expect to see me again. I--I--" a strangling sob; she broke down and wept out her anger in a perfumed square of black-bordered cambric. "Oh, pray, don't cry!" cried he, in distress. "I did not mean to make you angry, Miss West;" and then Leonora hastily dried her eyes and looked up at him. "I'm not angry--really," she said. "Only--only, I want you to understand that you need not be angry with Captain Lancaster on my account. There's no use in your liking me and having a quarrel over me--no use at all." "No one has quarreled," he answered, in a tone of chagrin and bitter disappointment. "Not yet, of course," she replied shaking her head gravely. "But you know you spoke to him very aggravatingly just now." "I merely used a quotation from Shakespeare," he retorted. The bright eyes looked him through and through with their clear gaze. "Yes, but there was a double meaning in it. I am sure he understood all that you meant to convey. I should think that when you meet him again he will knock you down for it." "You are charmingly frank, but you are right. I do not doubt but that he will--if he can," he replied, bitterly. Leonora measured the medium-sized figure critically with her eyes. "I should think there could be no doubt on the subject," she observed. "He is twice as big as you are." "Why do women all admire big, awkward giants?" asked he, warmly. "We do not," sharply. "Oh, Miss West, there's no use denying it. There are a dozen men in the Guards better looking than Lancaster, yet not one so much run after by the women; all because he is a brawny-fisted Hercules," crossly. "Captain Lancaster is your friend, isn't he?" with a curling lip. "He was before I saw you. He is not my friend if he is my rival," said De Vere, with frankness equal to her own. The round cheeks grew crimson again. "Put me out of the question. I am nothing to either of you--never can be," she said. "You have been friends, haven't you?" "Yes," curtly. "For a long time?" persisted she. "Ever since I went into the Guards--that is five years ago," he replied. "The fellows used to call us Damon and Pythias." "Then don't--don't let me make a quarrel between you!" exclaimed Leonora, pleadingly. "It is already made, isn't it?" with a half regret in his voice. "No; only begun--and you mustn't let it go any further."