"I suppose I ought to leave you," said Eames reluctantly, "but perhaps if you remain in the grounds I may meet you again."
"What is going on?" asked Van Tassel.
"Several things. A procession of illuminated boats in honor of the cadets, a concert by the West Point band outside the Michigan house, illumination of all the State buildings and dancing in many of them, but notably New York, all for the cadets. You will be likely to hear enough of those young men and see enough of them if you remain, Van Tassel."
"Oh, we can't," smiled Mildred demurely, as she gave her hand to the lieutenant. "We have important letters to write."
The "we," even in jest, was music to Jack. He turned to her as they ascended Brazil's steps. "Well, are you ready to come back to civil life?"
"Haven't I been civil all the time? And you," reproachfully, "were going to leave me."
"Only out of regard to Eames."
"I think you might have more regard for me than for him."
"I have. I thought you knew it."
Mildred did not answer. They had reached the large salon which was the second floor of Brazil's home, and from thence ascended the spiral iron staircase leading to the roof. Mounting another short flight of steps, they entered one of the four towers, and standing between its white pillars looked down on the enchanting vision of early evening in the White City,—the sum of imaginable loveliness.