Even as she spoke there was a heavy step in the outer hall, that of the sergeant coming to wake Lieutenant Whately.  Miss Lou glanced from her window in time to see Captain Maynard striding from his tent toward the grove which would screen the combatants from observation.  Waiting a few moments for the sergeant to retire she and Zany slipped down and out before Whately left his room.  They reached the grove from the back entrance of the house, and concealing themselves in some copse-wood, watched for Whately’s coming.  He soon appeared, walking rapidly as if fearing to be behind time.  He was in fact some moments late, having stopped to advise Perkins of the affair on hand.  He passed so near his cousin’s leafy screen that she could look into his flushed, troubled face and could hear him mutter, “Curse it all!  I’m forever getting into scrapes.”

For the first time since Zany’s news, pity overcame her anger and she murmured, “Poor spoiled boy!  It’s well for you and your mother that I’m here.”

Swiftly she followed him through the still dusky grove, keeping the boles of trees between herself and his form.  Beyond the grove was an open grassy field, facing the east, where the light was distinct.  Clearly outlined against the rose-tinted horizon was the figure of Maynard standing with his arms folded and his back toward them, apparently lost in deep thought.

“Well, sir,” said Whately sternly, “I suppose I should asked your pardon for keeping you waiting.”

“I reckon there’s plenty of time for the purpose of our meeting,” replied Maynard coolly.  “Since you are the challenged party and we have no seconds, arrange the matter to suit yourself.”

Whately was about to pace off the ground when a girl’s voice rang out clearly, “Stop that!”

“Miss Baron!” cried Maynard, taking off his hat.

Whately threw back his head proudly.  This was better than he had dreamed, for now his cousin would be compelled to recognize his high and haughty spirit.  A glance at the girl’s pale, stern face as she stepped out between them was not altogether reassuring.  She glanced coldly from one to the other for a moment and then said firmly, “I have something to say about this affair.”

“Pardon me, Miss Baron,” Maynard began, bowing, “if I am compelled to disabuse your mind.  This is a little matter between Lieutenant Whately and myself.  I am surprised beyond measure that he has invited you to be present.”

“That’s a lie,” thundered Whately, drawing his weapon from his belt.

“Stop, both of you,” cried the girl.  “Captain Maynard, my cousin has not invited me.  Your purpose of meeting was discovered by accident and revealed to me late last night—­too late for me to do anything then.  All the long night I have sat at my window that I might be in time to keep you from disgracing yourselves and me.”

“Great heavens!  Miss Baron, you do me injustice,” cried Maynard.  “I have been insulted.  I never thought of wronging you.  Perish such a thought!”