were born to except in your own looking-glass. Go and court Dorothy
Fair, and in spite of yourself you'll kiss the other girl when you're
kissing her. Well, I sha'n't cheat Madelon Hautville that way."

"You know--she will not--you know Madelon Hautville never--"
stammered Burr Gordon, furiously.

Lot laughed again. "You think she sets so much by you she'll never
kiss me," said he. "Don't be too sure, Burr. Nature's nature, and the
best of us come under it. Madelon Hautville's got her place, like all
the rest. There isn't a rose that's too good to take a bee in. Go do
your own courting, and trust me to do mine. Courting's in our
blood--I sha'n't disgrace the family."

Burr Gordon went past his cousin with a smothered ejaculation. Lot
laughed again, and tramped, coughing, away to the Hautville house.
When he drew near the house the chorus within were still practising
"Strike the Timbrel." When he opened the door and entered there was
no cessation in the music, but suddenly the girl's voice seemed to
gain new impulse and hurl itself in his face like a war-trumpet.

Burr Gordon kept on to Minister Jonathan Fair's great house in the
village, next the tavern. There was a light in the north parlor, and
he knew Dorothy was expecting him. He raised the knocker, and knew
when it fell that a girl's heart within responded to it with a wild
beat.

He waited until there was a heavy shuffle of feet in the hall and the
door opened, and Minister Fair's black servant-woman stood there
flaring a candle before his eyes.