“I am not come to give you good-by, but au revoir,” said Mrs. Farquhar to Stanhope and Irene, who were standing apart.  “I hate to go North in the summer, it is so hot and crowded and snobbish, but I dare say I shall meet you somewhere, for I confess I don’t like to lose sight of so much happiness.  No, no, Miss Benson, you need not thank me, even with a blush; I am not responsible for this state of things.  I did all I could to warn you, and I tell you now that my sympathy is with Mr. Meigs, who never did either of you any harm, and I think has been very badly treated.”

“I don’t know any one, Mrs. Farquhar, who is so capable of repairing his injuries as yourself,” said King.

“Thank you; I’m not used to such delicate elephantine compliments.  It is just like a man, Miss Benson, to try to kill two birds with one stone —­get rid of a rival by sacrificing a useless friend.  All the same, au revoir.”

“We shall be glad to see you,” replied Irene, “you know that, wherever we are; and we will try to make the North tolerable for you.”

“Oh, I shall hide my pride and go.  If you were not all so rich up there!  Not that I object to wealth; I enjoy it.  I think I shall take to that old prayer:  ’May my lot be with the rich in this world, and with the South in the next!’”

I suppose there never was such a journey as that from the White Sulphur to New York.  If the Virginia scenery had seemed to King beautiful when he came down, it was now transcendently lovely.  He raved about it, when I saw him afterwards—­the Blue Ridge, the wheat valleys, the commercial advantages, the mineral resources of the State, the grand old traditional Heaven knows what of the Old Dominion; as to details he was obscure, and when I pinned him down, he was not certain which route they took.  It is my opinion that the most costly scenery in the world is thrown away upon a pair of newly plighted lovers.

The rest of the party were in good spirits.  Even Mrs. Benson, who was at first a little bewildered at the failure of her admirably planned campaign, accepted the situation with serenity.

“So you are engaged!” she said, when Irene went to her with the story of the little affair in Lovers’ Walk.  “I suppose he’ll like it.  He always took a fancy to Mr. King.  No, I haven’t any objections, Irene, and I hope you’ll be happy.  Mr. King was always very polite to me—­only he didn’t never seem exactly like our folks.  We only want you to be happy.”  And the old lady declared with a shaky voice, and tears streaming down her cheeks, that she was perfectly happy if Irene was.

Mr. Meigs, the refined, the fastidious, the man of the world, who had known how to adapt himself perfectly to Mrs. Benson, might nevertheless have been surprised at her implication that he was “like our folks.”