w Jeb
Stuart emerge from the rose garden with Mary Lee. Custis ignored the
unimportant incident.

CHAPTER III

Stuart led Mary to a seat beneath an oak, brushed the dust away with his
cap and asked her to honor him. He bowed low over her hand and dared to
kiss it.

She passed the gallant act as a matter of course and sat down beside him
with quiet humor. She knew the symptoms. A born flirt, as every true
Southern girl has always been, she eyed his embarrassment with surprise.
She knew that he was going to speak under the resistless impulse of
youth and romance, and that no hearts would be broken on either side no
matter what the outcome.

She watched him indulgently. She had to like him. He was the kind of boy
a girl couldn't help liking. He was vital, magnetic and exceptionally
good looking. He sang and danced and flirted, but beneath the fun and
foolishness slumbered a fine spirit, tender, reverent, deeply religious.
It was this undercurrent of strength that drew the girl. He was always
humming a song, his heart bubbling over with joy. He had never uttered
an oath or touched a drop of liquor amid all the gaiety of the times in
which he lived.

"Miss Mary," he began slowly.

"Now Jeb," she interrupted. "You don't _have_ to, you know--"

Stuart threw his head back, laughed, and sang a stanza from "Annie
Laurie" in a low, tender voice. He paused and faced his fair tormentor.

"Miss Mary, I've got to!"

"You don't have to make love to me just because you're my brother's
classmate--"

"You know I'm not!" he protested.

"You're about to begin."

"But not for that reason, Miss Mary--"

He held her gaze so seriously that she blushed before she could recover
her poise. He saw his advantage and pressed it.

"I'm telling you that I love you because you're the most adorable girl
I've ever known."

His boyish, conventional words broke the spell.

"I appreciate the tribute which you so gallantly pay me, Sir Knight. But
I happen to know that the moonlight, the music of a dance, the song of
birds this morning and the beauty of the landscape move you, as they
should. You're young. You're too good looking. You're fine and unspoiled
and I like you, Jeb. But you don't know yet what love means."

"I do, Miss Mary, I do."

"You don't and neither do I. You're in love with love. And so am I. It's
the morning of life and why shouldn't we be like this?"

"There's no hope?" he asked dolefully.

"Of course, ther