Even the name of this big,
blue-eyed, fair-skinned young votary of science had much about it that
made her fairly bristle, for she had once been described as an
"austere vestal" by Lieutenant Blake, of the regiment preceding them
at Sandy, the ----th Cavalry--and a mutual friend had told her all
about it--another handicap for Blakely. She had grown, it must be
admitted, somewhat gaunt and forbidding in these later years, a thing
that had stirred certain callow wits to differentiate between the
Misses Wren as Angela and Angular, which, hearing, some few women
reproved but all repeated. Miss Wren, the sister, was in fine a woman
widely honored but little sought. It was Angela that all Camp Sandy
would have met with open arms.
"R-r-robert," began Miss Wren, as the captain unclasped his saber belt
and turned it over to Mickel, his German "striker." She would have
proceeded further, but he held up a warning hand. He had come homeward
angering and ill at ease. Disliking Blakely from the first, a
"ballroom soldier," as he called him, and alienated from him later, he
had heard still further whisperings of the devotions of a chieftain's
daughter at the agency, above all, of the strange infatuation of the
major's wife, and these had warranted, in his opinion, warning words
to his senior subaltern in refusing that gentleman's request to ride
with Angela.
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