"Moya has got a 'temperament,'" said Doctor Fleming, the Post surgeon.
"That's as good as having a star. You know there are persons who attract
misfortune just as sickly children catch all the diseases that are going.
I knew that boy was sure to be found. Anything of Moya's would be."

"So you think it was Moya's 'temperament' that pulled him out of the
snow?" said the colonel, wheeling his chair into the discussion.

"How about Mr. Winslow's temperament? I prefer to leave a little of the
credit to him," said Moya sweetly.

A young officer, who had been suffering in the corner by the fire, jumped
to his feet and bowed, then blushed and sat down again, regretting his
rashness. Moya continued to look at him with steadfast friendliness.
Winslow had led the rescue that brought her lover home. A glow of sympathy
united these friends and neighbors; the air was electrical and full of
emotion.

"I suppose no date has been fixed for the wedding?" Mrs. Dawson, on the
divan, murmured to Mrs. Creve. The latter smiled a non-committal assent.

"I should think they would just put the doctor aside and be married
anyhow. My husband says he ought to go to a warmer climate at once."

"My dear, a young man can't be married in his dressing-gown and slippers!"

"No! It's not as bad as that?"

"Well, not quite. He's up and dressed and walks about, but he doesn't come
down to his meals,--he can eat so very little at a time, and it tires him