at a large station like this, a first-class brigade, you know."
"Oh — ah — well, it is," said the captain; we do make mistakes sometimes; nice little bones of contention thrown among the natives for them to squabble over after we have gone; gives them something to talk about at any rate."
"Oh, but we don't want any bones of contention here," replied the lady, hardly knowing whether or not to be offended at the metaphor; "it's so easy to prevent it if you only ask the proper people for information. I wanted the brigadier to have a list of all the ladies in the station made out in order of seniority, and kept at the brigade-office. Now the commissioner's wife would have been senior to me, you know, only he's not married; and of course Miss Cunningham, she doesn't count in these matters. Then Colonel McLuckie is senior to Colonel Glumme — that's Mrs. McLuckie, the little pale thing talking to the commissioner — you wouldn't think it, for Colonel Glumme is ever so much older, and McLuckie is only a regimental major, and they are both brevets of '54, but McLuckie was senior as lieutenant-colonel."
"Thank you very much. I'm sure you have made it all as clear as daylight; but it's too late now, I'm afraid, to alter my list, for I should get into a hopeless muddle. You'll go in to dinner with his Excellency, and I must pair off the others the best way I can."
"I am sure you will manage very well," said the lady, a beaming smile succeeding the look of anxiety which had overspread her ample face; "you gentlemen of the staff are so clever."
Yorke, of course, went in to dinner, which was served in an adjoining tent, with the crowd of gentlemen to whose share no ladies fell, as became a subaltern; but it was his good fortune to sit nearly opposite to Miss Cunningham, who was handed in by a colonel on the staff, — and having nobody in particular to talk to, he occupied himself pleasantly enough in watching her furtively. The white ball-dress seemed perfect; but surely this rich dinner-dress was even more becoming. Was there ever seen so radiant and gracious a queen of beauty before? Why does not everybody in the room fall down and do homage? The colonel, happily, was a married man, so there was no cause for jealousy; but an uneasy doubt crossed his mind — what if his Excellency were to fall in love with her, and make her an offer? He was bachelor, and not much over sixty. Would she be able to withstand the temptation of the position in favour of a humble subaltern? But just then, Miss Cunningham looking round suddenly, their eyes met, and she gave him an arch look, as if recognizing a friend among strangers, which drove doubts and fears out of his head for the time. And after dinner, when the company returned to the drawing-room tent, he ventured to find his way to where she was sitting, and exchanged a few words, which sent him home with bounding heart and excited brain.
And yet there was not much in the conversation itself to turn a young fellow's head.
"I felt so sorry for your regiment at the review yesterday," she said, "just as it was coming in front, and looking so well. It was your colonel's fault, wasn't it? He got in the way, or did something ridiculous, did he not?"
"Major Dumble commands our regiment; of course it's the same thing as if he were a colonel." Angry though he was with the stupid old man, he could not be so disloyal to his commanding officer as to run him down in public, even in speaking to Miss Cunningham.
The young lady understood the implied rebuke, and at once continued, "I am very sorry for making such a blunder, and quite deserve to be scolded for it; but you see, I am so ignorant of military etiquette."
"Deserved!" cried the young fellow; "to think that I should have the presumption to say that anything you said or did was not perfect."
"Yes," she said, laughing, "but it was very far from being perfect; but there is so much tittle-tattle in the world, that it is hard not to fall into the way of talking it now and then; don't you think so?"
At this moment Colonel Falkland came up to know if she was ready to go, and Miss Cunningham rose at once.
"I didn't quite mean that, Olivia; your father is anxious to be off as soon as he can, and sent me to ask you to be ready; but you must wait till Mrs. Polwheedle sets the example of rising, or you would give mortal offence."
"There, you see," said she, turning towards Yorke laughingly — "another breach of etiquette!"
"Good heavens!" thought the youngster, "what bliss to have a private understanding set up already! and this is
