West Point Colors

by Anna Bartlett Warner

But when none of them came, when they were all swept away in the gay whirl of beauty and fashion, and she sat solitary with Mrs. Granton, this was not quite so easy to bear, Mabel found, as at first. And many a brave struggle for victory went on under the old trees before parade, and Saturday afternoons at the Hotel, and in her own room. Nobody guessed it, and she never told.

It was no great wonder if, to this rather dull young life, thus suddenly set down at the edge of the bright whirl, the hero of all romance, past, present, and future, should array himself in bell buttons and grey dress coat. It was also quite natural that this hazy individual should develop into the face and figure of Cadet Charlemagne Kindred, with no fault on his part, and no special folly on hers. In truth, it was some time before the child picked up a dictionary of herself, with definitions.

But Magnus was undoubtedly one of the handsomest men there, with keen eyes that could be wondrously soft upon occasion, a winning smile, and a laugh that was refined and pure as well as gay. And then, as may happen, his good intentions led him perilously far. He thought the girl rather neglected by her own party, and so took special pains to see and to speak to her whenever she was about. He asked her for a walk, when there was danger of her being left behind; asked her opinion, right over the head of Miss Dashaway, and (I shall have to confess it) enjoyed the quick flutter of colour that lit up her face whenever he came near. For Magnus had no thought of risk in the matter; he was far too much of a gentleman—too much of a man—to try to draw her on for his own amusement. He just meant to be kind to her, though he did pick up a little pleasure for himself as he went along. Now and then he took refuge with her when other girls bored him; made her a "previous" against Miss Flirt's advances, and never noticed that all the while he was drinking in silent flattery by the cupful; getting his own mind so befogged, indeed, that he could not see how swiftly and surely one poor little craft was heading for a very dangerous coast.

Cadet Kindred was not a vain fellow, but what man does not feel the bewitchment of having eyes watch for him and look up to him, even though he be too careless of them to know their colour? What man does not like to have his words counted and treasured as if they held the distilled wisdom of the sages and the ages? And Magnus was also minus a dictionary, and did not know how to spell things one bit. The girl must have a good time, he told himself, she could not be left riding at anchor while all the rest set sail, and what might happen if he too often played pilot, to that he never gave a thought. All that was in the realm of impossibility, in this connection. Wise men and poor girls.

It looked so impossible to other eyes, and the girl kept her own counsel so well that it drew little notice. Rig did once or twice ask Magnus if he was getting rattled with that little Bee girl, and some others remarked that Kin was practising how to flirt when the time came; but such words were empty air to Magnus. It was well for all parties that June stepped in, with its absorbing demands.

There were plenty of men who did more flirting and frolicking now than ever, but not so Magnus Kindred. Everything dropped out of his life but home and furlough. Each night he wrote to his mother about three lines, telling her what the "Exam" had done with him that day, and in all the other between-times he was either freshening up his knowledge of some hard points of study, or he was taking long walks with June, and June only, to clear his brain. If he heard voices, or caught a glimpse of grey coats or red parasols, Magnus sheered off, scaling the rocks or scrambling down the cliffs to some breakneck spot, quite beyond reach for any cadet who had girls in tow. There he would lie on the moss and listen to the river, or the bell notes of the thrush; listen without hearing, as he planned his journey home. He would take such a train, and make such a connection, and jump off at the old station at just such a time. He would not tell them quite when to expect him, because they would be sure to come to meet him, and some of them would cry—right there before everybody. And it was a bother to attend to your luggage with three girls round your neck. But then Magnus laughed and coloured too. There could hardly be three—yet somehow two seemed even more objectionable. And still if he sent no word, and they did not meet him, there was a good half hour lost from that end of his furlough.

So he argued it, back and forth. And all the while, poor little Miss Bee was weeping secret tears over the seeming defection of her knight. She must have displeased him somehow.

"My sisters can hardly wait until I get home!" said Mr. Randolph one night.

"There's another man's sister can hardly wait until I do," said Clive.