Belgrave Square "Dear Frank,—Surely you are not going to spend a third Christmas at Heidelberg! We want you with us in good old England. My marriage with Daphne is fixed for Christmas Day, and I shall not regard the ceremony as valid unless you are my best man. So come—come—COME! No time to say more. You can guess how busy I am. Write or wire by return.— Yours, Dear Frank COME "George." George. Such was the letter received by me, Frank Willard, student in Odenwald College, Heidelberg, on the first day of the last month of the year. The writer of the letter was my brother, a captain in the—something. I take a pride in not remembering the number of the regiment, for I am a man of peace and hate war and all connected therewith, excepting, of course, my soldier-brother, though my affection for him had somewhat waned of late years, for a reason that will soon appear. The letter was accompanied by a portrait of George, an exquisite little painting in oils, representing him in full-dress uniform. A glance at the mirror showed how much I suffered by comparison. He looked every inch[Pg 2] a hero. I looked—well, no matter. In the lottery of love the prizes are not always drawn by the handsome. The Daphne referred to was our cousin, a maiden with raven hair, dark blue eyes, and a face as lovely as a Naiad's. [Pg 2] Her father, Gerald Leslie, was a wealthy city merchant, who, after the death of our parents, became the guardian of George and myself, bestowing on us a warmth of affection and a wealth of pocket-money that made the transference to his roof seem rather desirable than otherwise, my own father having been of a somewhat cold and undemonstrative temperament. However, de mortuis nil nisi bonum. My first impulse on reading the above letter was to pen a refusal to the invitation. "What!" it may be said. "Refuse to be present at your brother's wedding? Refuse to return home to old England at Christmas-tide?—a season dear to every Englishman from its sacred and festive associations. 'Breathes there the man with soul so dead,' etc." Exactly. My soul was dead, both to the joys of Christmas and of Daphne's wedding. Four
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