"Only to think, next week, at this time, I'll be saying good-bye to you, Mary Raymond." Marjorie Dean's brown eyes rested very wistfully on the sunny-haired girl beside her in the big porch swing. "You know now, just how dreadfully I felt two years ago when I had to keep thinking about saying good-bye to you," returned Mary in the same wistful intonation. "It was terrible. And after you had gone Well-it was a good deal worse. Oh, Marjorie, I wish I could live this last year over again. If only--" Marjorie laid light fingers on Mary's lips. "You mustn't speak of some things, Lieutenant," she said quickly. "If you do I won't listen. Forget everything except the wonderful summer we've had together." Mary caught the soft little hand in both hers. "It has been wonderful," she agreed rather unsteadily. "I'll have the memory of it to treasure when I'm away off in Colorado. I can't believe that I am really going so far away from you. I hope I'll like the West. Next summer you must come out there and visit me, Marjorie. By that time I'll be a little bit at home in such a strange, new country." "I'd love to do that," responded Marjorie with an eagerness that merged almost immediately again into regretful reflection. A sad little silence fell upon the two in the porch swing. Each young heart was heavy with dread of the coming separation. This was the second time in two years that the call to say farewell had sounded for Marjorie Dean and Mary Raymond.