Adams said "By Jove!" in his most cynical drawl when Winton gave him
the dinner-bidding to read: then he laughed.

Winton recovered the dainty note, folding it carefully and putting it
in his pocket. The handwriting was the same as that of the telegram
abstracted from Operator Carter's sending-book.

"I don't see anything to laugh at," he objected.

"No? First the Rajah sends the sheriff's posse packing without
striking a blow, and now he invites us to dinner."

"You make me exceedingly tired at odd moments, Morty. Why can't you
give Mr. Darrah the credit of being what he really is at bottom--a
right-hearted Virginia gentleman of the old school?"

"You don't mean that you are going to accept!" said Adams, aghast.

"Certainly; and so are you."

There was no more to be said, and Adams held his peace while Winton
scribbled a line of acceptance on a leaf of his note-book and sent it
across to the Rosemary by the hand of the water-boy.

Their reception at the steps of the Rosemary was a generous proof of
the aptness of that aphorism which sums up the status _post bellum_ in
the terse phrase, "After war, peace." Mr. Darrah met them; was
evidently waiting for them.