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But if Miss Nan found time hanging heavily on her hands at other hours of the day, there was one young lady at the hotel who did not,–a young lady whom, by this time, she regarded with constantly deepening interest,–Miriam Stanley.

Other girls, younger girls, who had found their ideals in the cadet gray, were compelled to spend hours of the twenty-four in waiting for the too brief half-hour in which it was possible to meet them; but Miss Stanley was very differently situated. It was her first visit to the Point. She met, and was glad to meet, all Philip’s friends and comrades; but it was plainly to be seen, said all the girls at Craney’s, that between her and the tall cavalry officer whom they best knew through cadet descriptions, there existed what they termed an “understanding,” if not an engagement. Every day, when not prevented by duties, Mr. Lee would come stalking up from barracks, and presently away they would stroll together,–a singularly handsome pair, as every one admitted. One morning soon after the Stanleys’ arrival he appeared in saddle on his stylish bay, accompanied by an orderly leading another horse, side-saddled; and then, as by common impulse, all the girls promenading the piazzas, as was their wont, with arms entwining each other’s waists, came flocking about the south steps. When Miss Stanley appeared in her riding-habit and was quickly swung up into saddle by her cavalier, and then, with a bright nod and smile for the entire group, she gathered the reins in her practised hand and rode briskly away, the sentiments of the fair spectators were best expressed, perhaps, in the remark of Miss McKay,–

“What a shame it is that the cadets can’t ride! I mean can’t ride–that way,” she explained, with suggestive nod of her curly head towards the pair just trotting out upon the road around the Plain. “They ride–lots of them–better than most of the officers.”

“Mr. Stanley for instance,” suggests a mischievous little minx with hazel eyes and laughter-loving mouth.

“Yes, Mr. Stanley, or Mr. Pennock, or Mr. Burton, or a dozen others I could name, not excepting my brother,” answers Miss Nan, stoutly, although those readily flushing cheeks of hers promptly throw out their signals of perturbation. “Fancy Mr. Lee vaulting over his horse at the gallop as they do.”

“And yet Mr. Lee has taught them so much more than other instructors. Several cadets have told me so. He always does, first, everything he requires them to do; so he must be able to make that vault.”

“Will doesn’t say so by any means,” retorts Nannie, with something very like a pout; and as Will is a prime favorite with the entire party and the centre of a wide circle of interest, sympathy, and anxiety in those girlish hearts, their loyalty is proof against opinions that may not coincide with his. “Miss Mischief” reads temporary defeat in the circle of bright faces and is stung to new effort,–

“Well! there are cadets whose opinions you value quite as much as you do your brother’s, Nannie, and they have told me.”

“Who?” challenges Miss Nan, yet with averted face. Thrice of late she has disagreed with Mr. Stanley about Willy’s troubles; has said things to him which she wishes she had left unsaid; and for two days now he has not sought her side as heretofore, though she knows he has been at the hotel to see his sister, and a little bird has told her he had a long talk with this same hazel-eyed girl. She wants to know more about it,–yet does not want to ask.

“Phil Stanley, for one,” is the not unexpected answer.

Somebody who appears to know all about it has written that when a girl is beginning to feel deep interest in a man she will say things decidedly detrimental to his character solely for the purpose of having them denied and for the pleasure of hearing him defended. Is it this that prompts Miss McKay to retort?–