"The dancing class be damned! Ludwell Cary is a man and a gentleman,
Jacqueline--"

"Yes," said Jacqueline.

The Major threw away his sprig of box. "The Sphinx was a woman, and
every woman is an incarnate riddle! Why don't you care for him,
Jacqueline?"

"I do care for him. I like him very much."

"Pshaw!" said the Major irritably. "Don't look at that rose any longer!
It's cankered! And it's time that Dick and I were off. We vote--" he put
his shapely, nervous hand upon his niece's shoulder--"we vote,
Jacqueline, for Ludwell Cary."

"Yes, uncle," said Jacqueline. "I know--I know."

Colonel Dick Churchill, large and beaming, and Major Edward Churchill,
thin and saturnine, rode away, and from between the white pillars Deb
and Jacqueline watched them go. Colonel Dick's wife was an invalid, and
lay always in the cool and spacious "chamber," between dimity bed
curtains, with her key basket on the counterpane.

"Jacqueline," said Deb, "whom do you vote for?"

"Women do not vote, honey."

"But if you _did_ vote, Jacqueline?"