"My dear, I wish to see you by and by. Won't you let me?" said Mrs.
Whately. "I wish to see you--I must see you before I sleep," replied
the girl, decisively.

"I'll come up soon, then, dear."

Mrs. Baron reported to her husband what had occurred, but he only
groaned. He was scarcely able to do much else now.

"Oh, hang it!" exclaimed Whately, "what fiend directs my luck this
evening? If I had only known she had gone to the cabin, I could have
compelled her to listen to me and to my apologies."

"No worse luck could have happened," said his mother, entering. "You
must curb your impatience, and so--pardon me for saying it--must
you, brother and sister. You are driving the girl to lengths she
would never have thought of going. She is excited and almost beside
herself. You forget, brother, that she is a Southern girl and a
Baron, and has all the spirit of our race. She is one to be coaxed,
to yield to gentle pressure and firm reasoning, and not to be
driven."

"Oh, curse it! we've made a mess of it, I fear," groaned Whately,
who was capable of violent alternations of mood, and now was in the
valley of humiliation and almost despair.

"Well, you must all let me manage a little now," resumed Mrs.
Whately, somewhat complacently, "or else there is no telling what
trouble you may have."