think he is only bashful in company! We sat on the porch, and he told me
the long history of his life."

"Confound his impudence--"

"Oh, it was interesting as--as the Mysteries of Udolpho! You are a long
time over that briar, Mr. Cary. There! thank you! Listen to Mr.
Pincornet's fiddle. Scrape, scrape, scrape! The children are dancing,
and Jacqueline is helping them. Jacqueline is always helping some one.
But Mr. Pincornet thinks it is because she is in love with him. He is
sorry for her because he rather prefers me. I am in love with him too.
So is Molly Carter, so is Anne Page, and so will be little Deb as soon
as she is old enough. He is fifty, and French, and a dancing master, and
he wears an old, old, lace cravat and a powdered wig! When are we going
back to the house, Mr. Cary?"

"Let us walk a little farther!" pleaded the gentleman. "It is cool and
pleasant, with no fuss, and no Ned Hunter, with the history of his life,
confound him! Other men have histories as well as he! Your gown looks so
pretty against the leaves. Let us walk down to the lower gate."

Unity pursed her red lips, and considered the distance with velvety
black eyes. "I have on my dancing shoes,--but perhaps you will help me
across the brook!"

"I will," declared Fairfax Cary, and, when the brook was reached, was as
good as his word.

"I shall tell Uncle Dick to put safer stepping-stones," quoth Miss
Dandridge, with heightened colour. "How thick the mint grows here! We