der figure stiffened:

"The South won't fight that way. If they begin war it will be the most
solemn act of life. It will be for God and country, and what they
believe to be right. The Southern people are not assassins. When they
take Washington it will be with the bayonet."

"And yet your brother had a taste of Southern feeling here the night of
the election when a mob broke in and smashed the office of the
_Republican_."

"A gang of hoodlums," he protested. "Anything may happen on election
night to an opposition newspaper. The Southern men who formed that mob
will never give this administration trouble----"

"I'm so anxious to meet your brother," Betty interrupted. "Why doesn't
he come?"

"He's in the Senate Chamber for the ceremonies. He'll join us before the
procession gets here."

"He's as handsome as everybody says?" she asked naively.

"I'll admit he's a good-looking fellow if he is my brother."

"And vain?"

"As a peacock----"

"Conceited?"

"Very."

"And a woman hater!"

"Far from it--he's easy. He may not think so, but between us he's an
easy mark. I've always been afraid he'll make a fool of himself and
marry without the consent of his younger brother. He's a great care to
me."

The brown eyes twinkled:

"You love him very much?"

Ned Vaughan nodded his dark head slowly:

"Yes. We've quarrelled every day since the election."

"Over politics?"

"What else?"

"Love, perhaps."

The dark eyes met hers.

"No, he hasn't seen you yet----"

Betty's laugh was genial and contagious.

He had meant to be serious and hoped that she would give him the opening
he'd been sparring for. But she refused the challenge with such
amusement he was piqued.

"You're from Missouri, but you're a true Southerner, Mr. Vaughan."

"And you're a heartless Puritan," he answered with a frown.

She shook her golden brown curls:

"No--no--no! My name's an accident. My father was born in Maine on the
Canada line. But my mother was French. I'm her daughter. I love sunlight
and flowers, music and foolishness--and dream of troubadours who sing
under my window. I hate long faces and gloom. But my father has
ambition. I love him, and so I endure things."

Ned Vaughan looked at her timidly. For the life of him he couldn't make
her out. Was she laughing at him? He half suspected it, and yet there
was something sweet and appealing in the way she gazed into his eyes. He
gave it up and changed the subject.

He h