"Oh no!" Mostyn had never noticed before that his partner was such a
weakling in the presence of women, and he wondered over the man's
stumbling awkwardness. "Oh no," Saunders stammered. "I have inscribed
them to--to you, as a little personal gift, if--if you don't mind."

"Oh, how sweet, how lovely of you!" Dolly cried. "Now, I sha'n't even
want the others to handle them. I'm awfully selfish with what is
_really_ my own. Oh, you are _too_ good!" Her richly mellow voice was
full of genuine feeling, and a grateful moisture glistened in her
shadowy eyes. Saunders heard, saw, and averted his throbbing glance to
the mountain.

"Well, well," he said, awkwardly, "I must be going. It is Sunday, but
I must talk to my overseer about his work. He was down in Atlanta the
other day, and I did not like his showing as well as I could have
done. I shall throw up banking, Mostyn, one of these days and settle
down here. I see that now."

He was returning to the buggy, Dolly having gone to the house eager to
exhibit her gift, when Mostyn stopped him. "Shall I see you again
before you go back?" he inquired.

Saunders reflected. "I hardly think so, unless--Say, why couldn't you
get in and go over home with me? My cook, Aunt Maria, will give us a
good dinner, and we can lounge about all day."

"I don't think I could stay to dinner"--Mostyn was thinking that it
might prevent a possible chat with Dolly in the parlor or a stroll to
the spring--"but I'll ride over with you and walk back. I need the
exercise."