She was relentless in her scorn for his meannesses and follies, and, though he did not always heed her counsels, he proved their justness by finding his own course wrong.  Kate, however, hesitated about remonstrating with him on his deepening moodiness, for she was not quite sure whether it was mad jealousy of Dick’s favor in Rosa’s eyes, or a secret purpose to attempt to fly from the gentle bondage of Rosedale.  Wesley with Rosa it was remarked by Kate, was, or seemed to be, his better self, or rather better than the self with which others identified him.  It was, however, she feared, more to torment Dick, than because she found Wesley to her liking, that the little maid often carried the moody captain off into the garden, pretending to teach him the varied flora of that blooming domain.  Dick remarked these excursions with growing impatience, and visited his anger upon Rosa in protests so pungent and woe-begone that she was forced to own to him that she only pretended an interest in the captain, so that he might not think he was shut out of the confidence of the circle.

“And who cares if he does think he is shut out, I should like to know?  He is a sneak, and I don’t like to have you talking with him alone,” Dick cries, quite in the tone of the Benedict who has passed the marriage-portal and feels safe to make his will known.

“I should like to know what right you have to order what I shall or shall not do?” Rosa protests, half angry, half laughing.  “Why, you talk like a grown man—­like a husband.  How dare you?”

Dick pauses confused, and looks guiltily about at this.

“Ah, if you put it that way I have no right except this:  My whole heart is yours.  You know that.  You may not have given me all yours.”  (Protesting shrug from Rosa’s shoulders.) “Well, all the same; if my heart is all your own you have a duty in the case.  You ought to spare your own property from pain.” (Rosa laughs softly.) “Of course you are right.  You are always right.  How could such a beautiful being be wrong!” The artful rogue slips his arm about her waist at this, and, after a feeble struggle, he is permitted to hold this outwork unprotested.

“And, Rosa, if I speak like a man, it is because I am a man.  Wasn’t it the part of maids in the old times to inspire the arm of their sweethearts; to make them constant in danger, brave in battle, and patient in defeat?  Are you less than any of the damsels we read of in chivalry?  Am I not a man when I look in your dear eyes and see nothing worldlier than love, nothing earthlier than truth there?”

“What a blarney you are!  I must really get Vint to send you away, or he will have a Yankee brother-in-law.”

“And the Perleys will have a rebel at the head of the house.”

Now, this silly prattle had been carried on in the arbor near the library, and Wesley, sitting under the curtain, had heard every word of it.  Neither the words nor the unmistakable sounds that lips meeting lips make, which followed, served to soothe his angry discontent.  This was early on the great Davis gala day, and thereafter he disappeared from the scene.  He made one of the party to Williamsburg, and, though distraught in the conversation, was keenly alert to all he saw.