lk as if you had a
special vested right in my own mother,--that's _too_ much! As if you
could possibly know her as well as I do!"

She spurred her horse and galloped ahead furiously. But at the next turn
of the road she was waiting, remorseful.

"Forgive me for being a crosspatch, Flippy dear?" Her voice would have
coaxed forgiveness from a stone. "I always am sort of--sort of foolish
about mummy, you know."

"I have no fault to find with you for being foolish about your mother,"
said Philip.

"Then, that's all right!" She blew him a kiss, and prepared to leave
him. "And of course I will tell her everything, soon. When she knows,
she's going to be glad, gladder than anybody. I remember once,"--the
girl's face grew very tender--"we were just little things, Jemmy and I,
but she was talking to us, like she does. She said, 'When the right man
comes along, my girlies, be sure he is the right man, and then _don't be
afraid_. Love him with all your might and main, and be sure he knows it.
There's nothing in the world so mean as a niggardly lover!' I--I am not
a niggardly lover, Philip," she added shyly.

His throat contracted. Jacqueline's naivete was singularly touching to
him.

"Wait a moment," he said, detaining her. "Since I must keep the great
secret, I want you to promise me one thing. Do not go to Mr. Farwell's
house alone any more. You see," he explained to her widened eyes, "there
aren't any women there. Girls do not call on men."

"I go to your house whenever I like!"

He smiled. "As you yourself said once, I'm 'not men.' But it isn't done,
little girl. Take my word for that, please."

"Very well!" she chuckled. "You sound like Jemmy!--But I promise. I like
the Ruin better anyway. More private."

She waved back at him, put her horse lightly over a fence, and was off
across the fields at a full gallop.

He went his way thoughtfully. Philip was beginning to find his duties as
guardian of Kate Kildare and her children somewhat onerous. He tried to
reassure himself with the thought of Jacqueline's youth. Mature as she
had become in body, in mind she was still a child. At that age, love
could not be lasting.

But while it lasted, could it not devastate?

Often in this Kentucky valley he had known languorous Februaries when
orchard and garden, deceived by a fierce-wooing sun, trustingly put
forth their treasures, only to find them blackened and withered when the
true spring came. Dear little Jacqueline, gl