like an ambassador of the romantic school. "It is a sad day for your
fighting man," he concluded gaily, "when the only stimulant he can get
is the conversation of an old fogy like me."

"Your fighting man," old General Powhatan Plummer, who hadn't smelt
powder for more than half a century, chuckled as he always did at the
shrewd and friendly pleasantries of the Judge. He was a jocular,
tiresome, gregarious soul, habitually untidy, creased and rumpled, who
was always thirsty, but who, as the Judge was accustomed to reply when
Corinna remonstrated, "would divide his last julep with a friend." The
men had been companions from boyhood, and were still inseparable. For
the same delusion makes strange friendships, and the General, in spite
of his appearance of damaged reality, also inhabited that enchanted
fairy-ring where no fact ever entered.

With the bowl of marigolds in her hands, Corinna came over to the
tea-table and stood smiling dreamily at Stephen. The firelight dancing
over her made a riot of colour, and she looked the image of happiness,
though the young man knew that the ephemeral illusion was created by the
red of her gown and the burnished gold of the flowers.

"John Benham sent them to me because I praised his speech," she said.
"Wasn't it nice of him?"

"He always does nice things when one doesn't expect them," he answered.

Corinna laughed. "Is it because they are nice that he does them?" she
inquired with a touch of malice. "Or because they are not expected?"

"I didn't mean that." There was a shade of confusion in Stephen's tone.