much hearty good humor, "I am delighted to hear that last about my old friend Sally Peyton. I've known her well for fifty years—perhaps she wouldn't acknowledge it—and a more headstrong, determined, self-willed woman I never saw. Sally is a good woman, and by heaven, she was a devilish pretty one when—when—you may have heard the story, ma'am—but she always wanted to please herself a d—n sight more than anybody else—including Ned Peyton."
The Colonel said this quite pleasantly, and Madame Koller smiled at it—she seldom laughed. "Were you not some years in the army, Colonel Berkeley?" she asked presently. "It seems to me I have some recollection of having heard it." Colonel Berkeley colored slightly. He valued his military title highly, but he didn't know exactly how he came by it.
"The fact is madam," he replied, clearing his throat, "in the old days we had a splendid militia. Don't you remember the general musters, hay? Now I was the—the commanding officer of the Virginia Invincibles—a crack cavalry company, composed exclusively of the county gentlemen—and in some way, they called me colonel, and a colonel I remained."
"The title seems quite natural," said Madame Koller, with a sweet smile—"You have such a military carriage—that indescribable air—" at which the Colonel, who never tired of laughing at other people's foibles, straightened up, assumed a mar-
