“There’s a time to fight, and a time to leave off fighting,” Alicia decided.  “Here’s where we disarm.  When these people come from under the shade of the dear old family tree, they’re quite human.  We have got to let them give themselves the opportunity to discover that we’re human, too.”

It wasn’t necessary to explain things to The Author, because a portion of his brain is purely and cattily feminine.  That’s why he is a genius.  No man is a genius whose brain isn’t bisexual.

“I shall have to lay aside a cherished prejudice and lend this lady the light of my countenance, although I loathe card-parties.  I abhor cards, outside of draw-poker on shipboard, with a crook of sorts sitting in to lend the game a fillip.  Despite the fact that poor Mrs. Scarboro couldn’t lay hands on a decent crook to save her life, I think I shall go, and thereby acquire merit,” he concluded, with the air of a martyr.

I looked at him gratefully.

“I’ll wager that little Sophy thinks she wants to go because she desires to be friends and neighbors.  ’Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity!’—­You’re a transparent person, you Sophy!”

“But I do desire to be friends with them.  I have to live here all the rest of my life, haven’t I?”

“Not necessarily,” replied The Author, arching his eyebrows.  “For instance, you can live in New York any time you want to, Sophy.”

“I’ve never told you that you might call me Sophy,” I parried, hastily.

“Oh, but I like to call you Sophy,” he responded airily.  “And really, you shouldn’t mind.  I’ve called people lots worse things than Sophy, in my time!  But then,” he added, “I didn’t happen to like them.  As for you, I find you a very likeable being, Sophy; upon my word, extremely likeable!”

“Thank you,” said I. I wasn’t anxious to hear The Author tell me how likable he found me; at least, not yet.

* * * * *

For pride’s sake as well as for the sake of custom—­and in South Carolina custom has all the power of a fetish—­Mrs. Scarboro would have died rather than vary by one jot or tittle her usual refreshments, or wear a new frock, on that particular night.  Yet the occasion, despite its mild diversions, was distinctly epochal, in that it marked the reunion of Hyndsville.  Even Mr. Nicholas Jelnik, for the first time, put in his decorative appearance, to The Author’s fidgety surprise.  He played a highly creditable game of bridge.  And after a while he sang “Believe Me if All Those Endearing Young Charms,” so exquisitely that a hushed and rapturous silence fell upon everybody, and the old ladies and gentlemen present held their hands before misty eyes.  They used to sing that song when the old men were boy soldiers marching off to the tune of “The Bonnie Blue Flag,” and the old ladies were ringleted girls in hoop-skirts bidding them good-by.