"He'd do well in the open air," thought she, "but he's out of
place in a house."

Still, she found him interesting and original. And he
persistently sought her--his persistence was little short of
heroism in view of the never-wholly-concealed sufferings which
the contrast between her grace and style and his lack of both
caused him.

"He looks like a king who had been kidnapped as a child and
brought up in the wilds," said Olivia. "I wonder who he is."

"I'll ask him," replied Pauline. And Olivia was slyly amused
by her cousin's unconscious pride in her power with this large,
untamed person.



III.

AND SCARBOROUGH.


His name was Hampden Scarborough and he came from a farm about
twenty miles east of Saint X. He was descended from men who had
learned to hate kings in Holland in the sixteenth century, had
learned to despise them in England in the seventeenth century,
had learned to laugh at them in America in the eighteenth
century, had learned to exalt themselves into kings--the kings of
the new democracy--in the free West in the nineteenth century.