"Then I hope the mine will blow up under him," said Fairfax Cary. "Can you tell me, sir, if Miss Dandridge is at home?"

The Major looked over the top of his Gazette. "Miss Dandridge is sitting beneath the catalpa tree." The other made a movement towards the door.

"Mr. Page is with her. He is reading aloud--Elosa to Abelard, or some such impa.s.sioned stuff. Don't apologize! I have no objection to expletives."

The younger Cary laid down his hat, took a chair with great deliberation, and flecked his boot with his riding-whip. "The catalpa shall be sacred for me. Elosa to Abelard! Is it a long poem, sir?"

"It is longer than its author was. Sentimental rubbish!"

Major Edward folded the Gazette with his one hand, laid it on the library table, and leaned back in his leather chair. "It is not my opinion that Unity cares for Mr. Page. She cares for what many men and an occasional woman have cared for--liberty."

"I would give her liberty."

"She may possibly prefer it," said the Major dryly, "first hand."

The young man laughed ruefully. "So little liberty as she has left me!

I am bound hand and foot to her chariot wheels. There's nothing I wouldn't do for her, short of hearing Page read aloud."

"You'll win in the end, I think. And I hope you may. Unity Dandridge is wilful, but she is a fine woman."

"The finest in the world--the most beautiful--the most sparkling--the most loyal--"

"You'll not find her lacking in spirit. She will speak her mind, will Miss Dandridge! The Carys, fortunately, have a certain fine obstinacy of their own. It is a saving grace."

The other laughed. "I never heard that the Churchills lacked it, sir.

Anyhow, I mean to marry Miss Dandridge. I've told her and the world my intention, and they may count upon my carrying it out. If she only knew how lonely it is at Greenwood! Breakfast, dinner, and supper--Ludwell at the head of the table and I at the foot, and a company of ghosts in between--"

"Ludwell may yet marry."

Fairfax Cary shook his head. "No. He'll never marry. If the Carys are obstinate, sir, they are also constant."

Major Churchill rose, turned to the bookshelves, and drew forth a volume. "Is he not over that?" he asked harshly.

"No, he is not. He'll never be over it. And they say matches are made in heaven!"

"Bah! They are made on earth, and cracked hearts can be mended like any other cracked ware. 'A little crudded milk, fantastical puff-paste,'

with a woman's name--and it has power to turn the sunshine black! Let him play the man and put her out of mind!"

"He does play the man," answered the other, with spirit. "He neither sulks nor shirks. It remains that there was but one woman in the world for him, and that she is at Roselands with Lewis Rand."

The Major's book fell with a crash to the floor. He stooped quickly and recovered it before the younger man could give him service. "I shall run Mustapha on the sixteenth at Staunton against Carter's York," he said, in a shaking voice. "Have you seen that Barbary mare d.i.c.k has gotten over from England?"

"No," answered the young man. "I'll take a look at the stables before I go. What is your book, sir?"

"It is"--said the Major. "I'm d.a.m.ned if I know what it is!" and he looked at the volume in his hand. "Paul and Virginia--faugh!" He threw the book down and stalked to the window. Fairfax Cary sat in silence, one booted knee over the other, an arm upon the back of his chair, and the riding-whip depending from his hand. The Major turned. "They have laid down Pope, and Mr. Page is making his adieux! Humph! I can remember a day when the poem was considered vastly moving. I would advise you to strike while the iron is hot."

"Sometimes I think it will take an earthquake to move her toward me,"

said the other. "I'll give Page three minutes in which to clear out, and then I'll try again. It would amuse you, sir, to know how many times I have tried. If to have an object in life is praiseworthy, I am much to be lauded!"

"You have always evinced a fine determination," admitted the Major.

"Well, life must have an object, fair or foul. With it, cark and care; without it, ditchwater! This way disappointment; that, fungi on a log.

Vanity in either direction, but a man of honour must prefer the rack to the stocks."

Fairfax Cary looked at his watch. "Page's time is up. I'll go pursue my object, sir."

The pursuit took him over the greensward to the bench built around the great catalpa. The heat of the day was broken and the evening shadows lay upon the gra.s.s. Mr. Page was gone. Unity sat beneath the catalpa, elbow on knee and chin in hand, studying a dandelion at her feet. The poetical works of Mr. Alexander Pope lay at a distance, face down. The sky between the broad catalpa leaves was very blue, and a long ray of sunshine sifted through to gild the tendrils of Miss Dandridge's hair and to slide in brightness down her flowery gown. She glanced at the young man striding towards her from the house, then again admired the dandelion.

Fairfax Cary stooped, picked up Pope, and regarded the open pages with disfavour. "And at home he probably reads only The Complete Farrier--on Sundays maybe the Gentleman's Magazine or The Book of Dreams!"

"Who?" asked Unity.

"My rival. If he read Greek, he would yet be my rival and an ignorant fellow."

"He does read Greek," said Miss Dandridge severely, "and 'ignorant fellow' is the last thing that could be applied to him. Did you ride over from Greenwood to be scornful?"

"I rode over to be as meek as Moses and as patient as Job--"

"They were never my favourites in Scripture."

"Nor mine." He closed the book, swung his arm, and Pope crashed into a lilac bush. "There," he said, "goes meekness, patience, and the eighteenth century. This is the nineteenth. Time is no endless draught, no bottomless cup. Waste of life is the cankered rose. You know that you treat me badly."

"Do I?--I did not mean to."

"You do. Now you've got to say to me, 'I love you and I'll marry you,'

or 'I love you not and I'm going to marry some one else.' If it's the first, I'll be the happiest man on earth; if the second, I'll go far away and try to forget."

"Won't you sit down?"

"You have kept me standing in spirit these three years.

Standing!--kneeling! Now, will you or won't you?"

"I do not care in the least for Mr. Page. He is merely an agreeable acquaintance."

"And Mr. Dabney?"

"The same. He entertains me--"

"Mr. Lee--Mr. Minor--Ned Hunter--"

"What applies to one applies to all."

"I am glad to hear it. All merely agreeable acquaintances. And Mr.

Fairfax Cary? He is, perhaps, in the same category?"

"Perhaps. Oh, what a beautiful b.u.t.terfly!--there, on that trumpet flower! I think it is a Tawny Emperor."

"I see," said the young man. "Excuse me a moment while I frighten him away." He gravely shook the trumpet vine, and the light splendour spread its wings and sailed to a securer realm. "Now that the Emperor is gone perhaps you will pay attention. Am _I_ merely an agreeable acquaintance?"

"Oh--agreeable!" murmured Miss Dandridge.