Prosper sank back in his chair aghast.  In his sudden instinct of revolt he had forgotten the camp!  He knew, alas, too well what they would say!  He knew that, added to their indignation at having been duped, their chivalry and absurd sentiment would rise in arms against the abandonment of two helpless women!

“P’r’aps ye’re right, ma’am,” he stammered.  “I was only thinkin’,” he added feebly, “how she’d take it.”

“She’ll take it as I wish her to take it,” said Mrs. Pottinger firmly.

“Supposin’, ez the camp don’t know her, and I ain’t bin talkin’ o’ havin’ any sister, you ran her in here as my cousin?  See?  You bein’ her aunt?”

Mrs. Pottinger regarded him with compressed lips for some time.  Then she said, slowly and half meditatively:  “Yes, it might be done!  She will probably be willing to sacrifice her nearer relationship to save herself from passing as your sister.  It would be less galling to her pride, and she wouldn’t have to treat you so familiarly.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Prosper, too relieved to notice the uncomplimentary nature of the suggestion.  “And ye see I could call her ‘Miss Pottinger,’ which would come easier to me.”

In its high resolve to bear with the weaknesses of Prosper’s mother, the camp received the news of the advent of Prosper’s cousin solely with reference to its possible effect upon the aunt’s habits, and very little other curiosity.  Prosper’s own reticence, they felt, was probably due to the tender age at which he had separated from his relations.  But when it was known that Prosper’s mother had driven to the house with a very pretty girl of eighteen, there was a flutter of excitement in that impressionable community.  Prosper, with his usual shyness, had evaded an early meeting with her, and was even loitering irresolutely on his way home from work, when, as he approached the house, to his discomfiture the door suddenly opened, the young lady appeared and advanced directly towards him.

She was slim, graceful, and prettily dressed, and at any other moment Prosper might have been impressed by her good looks.  But her brows were knit, her dark eyes—­in which there was an unmistakable reminiscence of Mrs. Pottinger—­were glittering, and although she was apparently anticipating their meeting, it was evidently with no cousinly interest.  When within a few feet of him she stopped.  Prosper with a feeble smile offered his hand.  She sprang back.

“Don’t touch me!  Don’t come a step nearer or I’ll scream!”

Prosper, still with smiling inanity, stammered that he was only “goin’ to shake hands,” and moved sideways towards the house.

“Stop!” she said, with a stamp of her slim foot.  “Stay where you are!  We must have our talk out here.  I’m not going to waste words with you in there, before her.”

Prosper stopped.

“What did you do this for?” she said angrily.  “How dared you?  How could you?  Are you a man, or the fool she takes you for?”