"If I knew that Miss Fisher was engaged to him, I would send her a barrel or two of fine old books that I rescued from Gibdon's men—thought I'd save 'em for the owner. They made a bonfire of the library there."
"Lloyd used 'em up in a raid last fall—Gibdon's fellows. I don't blame 'em. But, say Miss Fisher has not been fair to me if she is engaged to that man."
"I always thought Miss Fisher was particularly fair—owing to a sun-bonnet, rather than to a just mind."
"You think she would treat me as she has—encourage me to make a fool of myself—if she is engaged to another man?"
"I think she is likelier to be engaged to five than 'another.'"
"You should not say that, Ashley," retorted Seymour, gravely. "It is not appropriate. You should not say that," he urged again.
"Oh, I mean no offence, and certainly no disrespect to the lovely Miss Fisher, who is my heart's delight. But you have heard the five-swain story?"
As Seymour looked an inquiry—
"Five Rebs in camp, all homesick, very blue, on a Sunday morning," began Ashley, graphically; "all sitting on logs, each brooding over his fiancée's ivory-type. And, as misery loves company, one sympathized with another, and, by way of boastfulness, showed the beautiful counterfeit presentment of his lady-love. Their clamors brought up the rest of the five, and each had the identical photograph of Miss Millie Fisher. She was engaged to all five! There was nothing else they could do—so they held a prayer-meeting!"
"What bosh!" exclaimed Seymour, fretfully. "People are always at some extravagant story about her like that. It isn't true, of course."