“Hm-m-m!”

“And that his name’s known as far west as the Mississippi.”

“There’s no law against a man’s name spreading.  It’s what every man strives for.  One succeeds, and the birds that carried the news are indignant.”

“And that he’s an Atheist.”

“Lewis Rand’s no saint, child, but he’s no fool either.  You’ll be telling me next that he mistreats his wife.”

“Ah, he does not do that!” exclaimed Unity.  “She’s deep in love.  He can’t be so very bad, can he, Cousin Jane?”

“He’s not a monster, child:  he’s just a man.—­And now, Unity, I am making damson preserves to-day.”

“I’ll go,” said Unity, rising.  “But they believe these things at Fontenoy.”

“Do they believe them at Greenwood?”

“I don’t know.  Ludwell Cary is still away—­”

“When are you going to marry his brother?”

“Why, I don’t know that I am going to marry his brother at all,” answered Unity, her foot upon the coach step.  “Good-bye, Cousin Jane.  I wish I could make pot-pourri like yours.”

“You must know what spices to use, and when to gather the roses,” said Cousin Jane.  “Good-bye, child!  You read too many romances, but you’re a loyal soul and one of your gowns is prettier than another.  Don’t you believe all the world says of Lewis Rand.  It’s mighty prone to make mistakes.  The man’s just a sinner like the rest of us.”

At Fontenoy, that September afternoon, Fairfax Cary, riding over from Greenwood, found Miss Dandridge seated upon the steps which ran down to the garden from the glass doors of the library.  Her chin was in her hands, and her black eyes were suspiciously bright.  “You were crying,” exclaimed the younger Cary.  “Why?”

“I’ve been reading about the Capulets and the Montagues.”

“You are not one to cry for the dead,” said the young man.  “Tell me truly.”

“No; I’m crying for the living.  I’ve been talking to the Capulets.  I’ve been giving Uncle Edward a piece of my mind.”

“Which he would not take?”

“Just so.  Oh, it was a battle royal!  But I lost—­I always lose.  He is sitting there in triumphant misery, reading Swift.  I brought my defeat out here.  Now and then I am glad I am a woman.”

“I’m glad all the time,” said Fairfax Cary.  “Don’t dwell on lost battles.  Unity, when are you going to let me fight all your battles?”

“I don’t know,” answered Miss Dandridge promptly.  “I don’t even know that I would like to have all my battles fought for me.  I’m not lazy, and I believe my ancestors fought their own.  Besides—­would you fight this one?”

There was a pause; then, “Do you love your cousin so?” asked the young man.

“Love Jacqueline?  Jacqueline is like my sister.  If she is not happy, then neither am I!”

“But she is happy.  She loved Lewis Rand, and she married him.”

“Yes, yes.  But a woman may marry her lover and yet be unhappy.  If he takes her to a strange country, she may perish of homesickness.”