“He won’t say anything about it—­will he?” she inquired shyly, still twisting the something around her finger.

Peter did not reply; perhaps the young lawyer really loved her and would keep her secret!  But he was vexed, and there was something maniacal in her twisting fingers.  “What have you got there?” he said sharply.

She shook the object in the air before her with a laugh.  “Only a lock of his hair,” she said gayly; “but I didn’t cut it off!”

“Throw it away, and come here!” he said angrily.

But she only tucked the little blond curl into her waist belt and shook her head.  He urged his horse forward, but she turned and fled, laughing as he pursued her.  Being the better rider she could easily evade him whenever he got too near, and in this way they eventually reached the town and their house long before their companions.  But she was far enough ahead of her brother to be able to dismount and hide her trophy with childish glee before he arrived.

She was right in believing that her unfortunate cavalier would make no revelation of her conduct, and his catastrophe passed as an accident.  But Peter could not disguise the fact that much of his unpopularity was shared by his sister.  The matrons of Atherly believed that she was “fast,” and remembered more distinctly than ever the evil habits of her mother.  That she would, in the due course of time, “take to drink,” they never doubted.  Her dancing was considered outrageous in its unfettered freedom, and her extraordinary powers of endurance were looked upon as “masculine” by the weaker girls whose partners she took from them.  She reciprocally looked down upon them, and made no secret of her contempt for their small refinements and fancies.  She affected only the society of men, and even treated them with a familiarity that was both fearless and scornful.  Peter saw that it was useless to face the opposition; Miss Atherly did not seem to encourage the renewal of the young lawyer’s attentions, although it was evident that he was still attracted by her, nor did she seem to invite advances from others.  He must go away—­and he would have to take her with him.  It seemed ridiculous that a woman of thirty, of masculine character, should require a chaperon in a brother of equal age; but Peter knew the singular blending of childlike ignorance with this Amazonian quality.  He had made his arrangements for an absence from Atherly of three or four years, and they departed together.  The young fair-haired lawyer came to the stage-coach office to see them off.  Peter could detect no sentiment in his sister’s familiar farewell of her unfortunate suitor.  At New York, however, it was arranged that “Jinny” should stay with some friends whom they had made en route, and that, if she wished, she could come to Europe later, and join him in London.

Thus relieved of one, Peter Atherly of Atherly started on his cherished quest of his other and more remote relations.