He wrote a second message:  “Disregard Mrs. Penhallow’s telegram.  Come at once.  Fee at discretion.  Will meet you at Westways Crossing.”

He roused up Josiah and gave his order.  “Ride to the mills and get this despatch sent to-night or early to-morrow—­oh, to-night, somehow.  It is important.  Pay some one—­only get it sent.  Here are five dollars.”

He was of no mind to meet either Leila or his aunt, and to escape them breakfasted early next morning, and riding to the mills was pleased to avoid another painful interview.  On his return at evening the dinner at Grey Pine was made rather less uncomfortable by the presence of Rivers who talked to Ann Penhallow while the Colonel dozed in his armchair.  Accustomed to have her decisions obeyed in her home, Ann Penhallow had now dismissed the question of a consultation as settled, and had quite lightly mentioned to Leila that John had revived the subject and that she had once for all put an end to it.

She was sorry to have had to be so positive, but was pleased to be done with the matter in dispute.  She little knew the young soldier.  When he was certain that the consultant would come, he began to consider what he would do if his aunt did simply refuse to see Dr. Askew.  She might, in fact, be as resolute as her nephew.

In her trouble about her husband’s mishap, Ann Penhallow hardly regarded her niece’s unpleasant share in the sad ending of the rummage-sale—­it was relatively of no moment.  Nor would the girl herself have been willing to discuss it.  John Penhallow should have held his tongue, and now all Westways must be laughing—­and she would never—­never—­forgive him.  Evidently her aunt had scolded him about that consultation.  She had a little curiosity to know how he had taken it and how he looked when he came to match the will of his young manhood against the unreasonable obstinacy of the woman he had been taught to obey.  She observed next day at breakfast that John was more than usually gay, as he asked if there were any errands.  There were none.  He loitered about waiting and at last went out to the back porch where he stood a minute looking over the box hedge which bounded the garden.  Leila was busy taking tribute from the first roses of the summer days.  As she bent over, she let them fall one by one into the basket at her feet.  Now and then she drew up her tall figure, and seemed to John as she paused to be deep in thought.  When she became aware of his approach, she fell again to harvesting roses.

He said, “Leila, before I go to the mills, I want to talk with you about what is troubling me.  In fact—­”

Without looking up she broke into his attempt to explain himself, “I am in no mood to discuss anything, John Penhallow.”

He was frankly puzzled.  Of the many Leilas, this was a new acquaintance, but he said quietly, “It is necessary to make a statement—­I want first to explain.”

She refreshed her rising anger with words.  “I do not want any explanation—­there are things no woman can pardon.  I was insulted.”