upon his unreadiness to pick up the glove—­if a glove had been thrown.  As the assemblage broke up and flowed homeward, the most pertinent comment, perhaps, was that of the down-river planter:  “If ’twas just a breeze, and all over, why didn’t they shake hands?  Gad! when I was young and we fell out and made up over the wine, we went roaring home arm over shoulder!  Your manners are too cold.  A bow is nothing—­one can bow to a villain!  Men of honour, when the quarrel’s over, should shake hands!”

“Precisely,” said his companion, who chanced to be Mr. Wickham.  “They are men of honour; they didn’t shake hands. Ergo the quarrel’s not over!—­Here we are at the Eagle.”

CHAPTER XVII

FAIRFAX AND UNITY

“Bah!” exclaimed Major Churchill.  “Long ago Hamilton said the last word on the subject.  Aaron Burr’s sole political principle is to mount.  The Gazette says he has started West—­gone, I’ll swear, to light the fuse.”

“Then I hope the mine will blow up under him,” said Fairfax Cary.  “Can you tell me, sir, if Miss Dandridge is at home?”

The Major looked over the top of his Gazette.  “Miss Dandridge is sitting beneath the catalpa tree.”  The other made a movement towards the door.  “Mr. Page is with her.  He is reading aloud—­Eloisa to Abelard, or some such impassioned stuff.  Don’t apologize!  I have no objection to expletives.”

The younger Cary laid down his hat, took a chair with great deliberation, and flecked his boot with his riding-whip.  “The catalpa shall be sacred for me.  Eloisa to Abelard!  Is it a long poem, sir?”

“It is longer than its author was.  Sentimental rubbish!”

Major Edward folded the Gazette with his one hand, laid it on the library table, and leaned back in his leather chair.  “It is not my opinion that Unity cares for Mr. Page.  She cares for what many men and an occasional woman have cared for—­liberty.”

“I would give her liberty.”

“She may possibly prefer it,” said the Major dryly, “first hand.”

The young man laughed ruefully.  “So little liberty as she has left me!  I am bound hand and foot to her chariot wheels.  There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her, short of hearing Page read aloud.”

“You’ll win in the end, I think.  And I hope you may.  Unity Dandridge is wilful, but she is a fine woman.”

“The finest in the world—­the most beautiful—­the most sparkling—­the most loyal—­”

“You’ll not find her lacking in spirit.  She will speak her mind, will Miss Dandridge!  The Carys, fortunately, have a certain fine obstinacy of their own.  It is a saving grace.”

The other laughed.  “I never heard that the Churchills lacked it, sir.  Anyhow, I mean to marry Miss Dandridge.  I’ve told her and the world my intention, and they may count upon my carrying it out.  If she only knew how lonely it is at Greenwood!  Breakfast, dinner, and supper—­Ludwell at the head of the table and I at the foot, and a company of ghosts in between—­”