Among the festivities was a big dinner given at the C. O.'s fine
quarters to the officers of high rank at the fort, and as a special
compliment Broussard was invited, the only bachelor officer except the
serious Conway, Colonel Fortescue's aide, who classified Anita with the
After-Clap in point of age.

Broussard had met Anita and danced with her many times that fortnight
but, with native good taste, he avoided thrusting himself upon her.
She was so calm, so well poised, that Broussard concluded she had
forgotten all about the words spoken under the influence of the near
presence of love and death. In truth, Anita had forgotten nothing, but
had suddenly become a woman in those few days. Always Broussard had
wakened her girlish admiration by his charm of manner, his sly
impudence, his way of singing love songs; and her eyes followed him,
while she turned away from him. But she knew exactly what Broussard
had said to her while they stood on the tanbark and she blushed to
herself at the answer that came involuntarily to her lips. She knew no
more of actual love-making than the After-Clap, but she was an
inveterate reader of poetry and romance, and had not studied the poets
and romancists for nothing. Perhaps Broussard would say more to
her--at that thought a lovely light came into Anita's innocent eyes.
Perhaps he had forgotten everything. Then Anita's eyes were troubled.
The pride of maidenhood was born, as it should be, with love, and Anita
no longer ran to the window to see Broussard, but when he was present
he filled the room; when he spoke she heard no other voice than his.

Colonel Fortescue had a theory which came amazingly true in his own
daughter. It was, that in high altitudes, with mountain ranges and
vast frozen rivers shutting out the rest of the world, the emotions
become preternaturally acute; that human beings grew more tragic or