“That’s enough, Ned,” she said, and started toward the house.

“Jinny!  Miss Jinny!” The call was plaintive.

“Well, what?”

“Miss Jinny, I seed that than young gemman.  Lan’ sakes, he ain’ look like er Yankee.”

“Ned,” said Virginia, sternly, “do you want to go back to cooking?”

He quailed.  “Oh, no’m—­Lan’ sakes, no’m.  I didn’t mean nuthin’.”

She turned, frowned, and bit her lip.  Around the corner of the veranda she ran into her cousin.  He, too, was booted and spurred.  He reached out, boyishly, to catch her in his arms.  But she drew back from his grasp.

“Why, Jinny,” he cried, “what’s the matter?”

“Nothing, Max.”  She often called him so, his middle name being Maxwell.  “But you have no right to do that.”

“To do what?” said Clarence, making a face.

“You know,” answered Virginia, curtly.  “Where’s Aunt Lillian?”

“Why haven’t I the right?” he asked, ignoring the inquiry.

“Because you have not, unless I choose.  And I don’t choose.”

“Are you angry with me still?  It wasn’t my fault.  Uncle Comyn made me come away.  You should have had the girl, Jinny, if it took my fortune.”

“You have been drinking this morning, Max,” said Virginia.

“Only a julep or so,” he replied apologetically.  “I rode over to the race track to see the new trotter.  I’ve called him Halcyon, Jinny,” he continued, with enthusiasm.  “And he’ll win the handicap sure.”

She sat down on the veranda steps, with her knees crossed and her chin resting on her hands.  The air was heavy with the perfume of the grapes and the smell of late flowers from the sunken garden near by.  A blue haze hung over the Illinois shore.

“Max, you promised me you wouldn’t drink so much.”

“And I haven’t been, Jinny, ’pon my word,” he replied.  “But I met old Sparks at the Tavern, and he started to talk about the horses, and—­and he insisted.”

“And you hadn’t the strength of character,” she said, scornfully, “to refuse.”

“Pshaw, Jinny, a gentleman must be a gentleman.  I’m no Yankee.”

For a space Virginia answered nothing.  Then she said, without changing her position: 

“If you were, you might be worth something.”

“Virginia!”

She did not reply, but sat gazing toward the water.  He began to pace the veranda, fiercely.

“Look here, Jinny,” he cried, pausing in front of her.  “There are some things you can’t say to me, even in jest.”

Virginia rose, flicked her riding-whip, and started down the steps.

“Don’t be a fool, Max,” she said.

He followed her, bewildered.  She skirted the garden, passed the orchard, and finally reached a summer house perched on a knoll at the edge of the wood.  Then she seated herself on a bench, silently.  He took a place on the opposite side, with his feet stretched out, dejectedly.