In the parlor Madam Byrd was yet at the harpsichord, but ceased to touch the keys when her step-daughter, followed by Darden’s Audrey, entered the room.  The master of Westover, seated beside his young wife, looked quickly up, arched his brows and turned somewhat red, as his daughter, with her gliding step, crossed the room to greet him.  Audrey, obeying a motion of her companion’s hand, waited beside a window, in the shadow of its heavy curtains.  “Evelyn,” quoth the Colonel, rising from his chair and taking his daughter’s hand, “this is scarce befitting”—­

Evelyn stayed his further speech by an appealing gesture.  “Let me speak with you, sir.  No, no, madam, do not go!  There is naught the world might not hear.”

Audrey waited in the shadow by the window, and her mind was busy, for she had her plans to lay.  Sometimes Evelyn’s low voice, sometimes the Colonel’s deeper tones, pierced her understanding; when this was so she moved restlessly, wishing that it were night and she away.  Presently she began to observe the room, which was richly furnished.  There were garlands upon the ceiling; a table near her was set with many curious ornaments; upon a tall cabinet stood a bowl of yellow flowers; the lady at the harpsichord wore a dress to match the flowers, while Evelyn’s dress was white; beyond them was a pier glass finer than the one at Fair View.

This glass reflected the doorway, and thus she was the first to see the man from whom she had fled.  “Mr. Marmaduke Haward, massa!” announced the servant who had ushered him through the hall.

Haward, hat in hand, entered the room.  The three beside the harpsichord arose; the one at the window slipped deeper into the shadow of the curtains, and so escaped the visitor’s observation.  The latter bowed to the master of Westover, who ceremoniously returned the salute, and to the two ladies, who curtsied to him, but opened not their lips.

“This, sir,” said Colonel Byrd, holding himself very erect, “is an unexpected honor.”

“Rather, sir, an unwished-for intrusion,” answered the other.  “I beg you to believe that I will trouble you for no longer time than matters require.”

The Colonel bit his lip.  “There was a time when Mr. Haward was most welcome to my house.  If ’t is no longer thus”—­

Haward made a gesture of assent.  “I know that the time is past.  I am sorry that ’t is so.  I had thought, sir, to find you alone.  Am I to speak before these ladies?”

The Colonel hesitated, but Evelyn, leaving Madam Byrd beside the harpsichord, came to her father’s side.  That gentleman glanced at her keenly.  There was no agitation to mar the pensive loveliness of her face; her eyes were steadfast, the lips faintly smiling.  “If what you have to say concerns my daughter,” said the Colonel, “she will listen to you here and now.”