Miss Sanford?" asked Mrs. Turner, with that feminine impetuosity which is born of an incredulity as to any one's being able to convey information in one's own time and way.
"Miss Marion Sanford. She was a classmate of Mrs. Truscott's in their school-days, and belongs to a wealthy New Jersey family, Mr. Billings says."
"Oh, I know!" said Mrs. Raymond. "She's that handsome girl in the album that Grace had at Sandy, don't you know? with the Worth dress and the something or other the matter with her forehead—a burn or a birth-mark—wears her hair so low over it. Don't you know? Grace told us she had such a sad history—her mother died when she was sixteen and her father married again, and she has her mother's fortune and had gone abroad. She was travelling with the Zabriskies and was presented at court last year, and the Prince of Wales said something or other about her. Don't you know? we read it in the New York something as we were coming out on the Kansas Pacific last fall. My! Just think of her at West Point! What a catch!" And Mrs. Raymond paused, breathless with admiration, not with effort. Talking fatigued her far less than silence.
"Yes, Mrs. Raymond, that is the very one, I believe," continued Mrs. Stannard in her pleasant tones, as soon as the lady came to a full stop. "Mr. Billings says that he has heard that her father married a very unpleasant woman the last time, and that 'twas said he would be——"
"What! Mr. Billings said that? Oh, Mrs. Stannard, how rejoiced I am to hear it! Captain Turner tried to make me believe that he was another Truscott in his horror of gossip. Now, won't I crow over him when he comes in to dinner?"
"Not crow, dear—cackle," suggested Mrs. Raymond, mildly; "it's the other sex that does the crowing."
"Very possibly I have betrayed a trust," laughed Mrs. Stannard, coming to the rescue in the interests of harmony. "It was my mistake in referring to it. Do tell me about Mrs. Truscott; you know I never met her."
"What is there to tell except that she is Mrs. Truscott," half laughed, half pouted Mrs. Turner, who never quite forgave the fact that her queendom, real or imaginary, had been invaded by that very lady a year before, to the temporary loss of her throne. As Grace Pelham, Mrs. Truscott had won all hearts at Sandy. "She is undeniably pretty and lady-like; but what else can any one say of her? Stylish? no. Now, Mrs. Raymond, you need not try and say you think her stylish, because only last year at Prescott you wouldn't admit it. And as to her winning Mr. Truscott as she did, it is simply incomprehensible. What men see in some women is beyond me. She is neither deep, nor intellectual, nor particularly well read that I ever saw or heard of, and how she's a match for him, as people say, I can't see. He's just head over heels in love with her—at least he was—and she was simply wrapped up in him—at least she is. You ought to have seen the letter she wrote Mrs. Page a few months ago; all about her happiness and Jack—just as if there never had been another man in the world worth looking at. She'd have been just as rapturous over Mr. Glenham if she'd married him as she promised to do, I haven't a doubt, or Ray. He was ready to bow down and worship her at one time; and she encouraged him not a little before we left Sandy, too."
"Don't you believe that," interposed Mrs. Raymond. "They were warm friends, I know, but Ray was never her lover."
"You always will contradict me, Nellie," protested Mrs. Turner; "but if you could not see what every one else saw you were simply blind. I wonder she doesn't sometimes regret not marrying Glenham, though. They say he has gone abroad and has more money than he can ever spend."
"More than he ever could if he's as close as he was in Arizona," interposed Mrs. Raymond.
"But did you not know that Captain Truscott's ventures were coming out wonderfully well?" asked Mrs. Stannard, eager to give a pleasanter tone to the talk. "I heard not only that was true, but that an uncle had left him a good deal of money. One thing is certain, they have fitted up their quarters beautifully at the Point, and are living there in a good deal of style."
"Here come the officers in from drill," exclaimed Mrs. Turner, as a group of bronzed and soldierly-looking men came suddenly around the corner of the adjutant's office and strolled towards them. "Ask Captain Merrill, he will know. Captain Merrill," she called, raising her voice. "Do come here a moment." And obediently he came, doffing his cap and accepting the seat tendered him beside her by Mrs. Raymond.
"You were at the Point last month. Is it true that Captain Truscott has a good deal of money now?"
"Can't prove it by me, madame," said Merrill, sententiously. "Ask Blake. He's our Jenkins. How is it, Blake?"
"Don't call me pet names, dearie. 'When my tongue blabs then let mine eyes not see,'" declaimed Mr. Blake, sauntering up to the group and swinging a long, lean leg over the railing. "What do you want to know?"
"Is Mr.—Captain Truscott rich?"
"If my individual experiences are indicative, I should say he was boundless in wealth and prodigality."
"Why?"
"He lent me a hundred dollars when I was East on leave, and I know he never expects to see it again."
"I declare, Mr. Blake, you are as bad as Mr. Ray!"
"They are scoundrels and substractors that say so of me. Mrs. Turner, you—you make me blush. Ray, come hither and bear me consolation. Friend of my youth, Merrill calls me Jenkins; Mrs. Turner calls me bad as you; and you—called me with a pair of kings when mine was a bobtail. The world is hollow, Ray."
"Mr. Blake! Will you stop your everlasting nonsense and tell us about Truscott? When were you there?"
"Mrs. Turner, you aggrieve me, but I was there in April."
"And are they so delightfully situated?"
"Yea, verily—blissfully."
"Was Miss Sanford there?"
"She came, alas! the very eve I hied me hence. I saw her but a moment; 'twas——"
"You saw her? Tell us what she's like. Is she pretty? is she sweet-mannered as they say?"
"Sweet? She's sweet, aye, dix-huit; at least she was a year agone. Pretty? Ah me!" And Blake sighed profoundly, and straddled the rail a picture of dejection. His auditors groaned in chorus, the customary recognition of one of Blake's puns, but gathered about him in manifest interest. With all his rattling nonsense he was a regimental pet.
"But where is she from? What connection of the New Jersey Sanford?"
"The Autocrat of the Preakness Stable, mean you? Marry, I know not. She is a Sanford and has a Sanford's wealth, but 'twas not for me. She adores a horse and worships a horseman. This I gathered from our too brief converse. I strove to win her ear with poesie, but she bade me cease. Her soul is not attuned to melody—she'd none of mine. She preferred my Lady Truscott and buttered muffins."
"What did Truscott say about Crook's fight with Crazy Horse?" asked Ray, who looked blank enough at Blake's jargon, and wanted facts.
"I don't think Jack liked the looks of things," said Blake, relapsing into sudden gravity. "He told me that he thought it more than likely we'd all be in the field again in less than a month."
"We?" said Merrill. "It isn't a matter that affects Truscott one way or another. He has his four years' detail at the Point. What difference does it make to him whether we're ordered up
