“I have the honor of commanding the Sixth Artillery Regiment from that State.”
“You must pardon me, Colonel, for my seeming inquisitiveness,” and her eyes sparkled with demure mischief. “Yet I cannot quite understand. I was at school in Connecticut with a Miss Curran whose father was an officer of artillery from Ohio, and, naturally, I at once thought of her when the Major pronounced your name; yet it certainly cannot be you—you are altogether too young, for Myrtle must be eighteen.”
I laughed, decidedly relieved from what I feared might prove a most awkward situation.
“Well, yes, Miss Minor, I am indeed somewhat youthful to be Myrtle's father,” I said at a venture, “but I might serve as her brother, you know, and not stretch the point of age over-much.”
She clasped her hands on my arm with a gesture of delight.
“Oh, I am so glad; I knew Myrtle had a brother, but never heard he also was in the army. Did you know, Colonel, she was intending to come down here with me when I returned South, at the close of our school year, but from some cause was disappointed. How delighted she would have been to meet you! I shall certainly write and tell her what a splendidly romantic time we had together. You look so much like Myrtle I wonder I failed to recognize you at once.”
She was rattling on without affording me the slightest opportunity to slip in a word explanatory, when her glance chanced to fall upon some one who was approaching us through the throng.
“Oh, by the way, Colonel, there is another of Myrtle's old schoolmates present to-night—a most intimate friend, indeed, who would never forgive me if I permitted you to go without meeting her.”
She drew me back hastily.
“Edith,” she said, touching the sleeve of a young woman who was slowly passing, “Edith, wait just a moment, dear; this is Colonel Curran—Myrtle Curran's brother, you know. Colonel Curran, Mrs. Brennan.”