der, and possibly of low parentage."

"Is St. John married yet?"

"No."

"And he comes here quite often, you say?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps he is going--that is, he would like to marry you, Marion,"
blurted out Harry Powell.

At this the girl flushed crimson.

"Well--he has spoken something of it," she replied, in a low voice.

"The dickens he has!"

"Cousin Harry!"

"I beg your pardon, Marion, but--but--this is not pleasant news."

"You mustn't get rough, Harry. St. John says there are no true gentlemen
among the Yankees. But I think differently--now I have met Colonel
Stanton."

"Oh, confound St. John! There are truer gentlemen among my fellow
officers than he will ever be." Harry Powell took a turn around the
summerhouse. "But I forgot. I ought not to have spoken so of your future
husband."

"Who said he was my intended husband?"

"Why, you intimated as much."

"I am sure I did not."

"It is the same thing. You said he had spoken of marriage to you."

"That is a very different matter."

Harry Powell took another turn around the summerhouse. "I suppose you
love him, though I don't understand how any girl could love such an
insufferable bore."

"Harry, aren't you prejudiced against St. John?"

"Perhaps I am. But seriously, Marion, what can you find to admire in St.
John?"

"He is a Ruthven."

"That is true."

"If I married him I would still remain a Ruthven."

"Then why not remain an old maid and likewise a Ruthven? It would be far
better, take my word on it."

"Then you don't advise me to marry?"

"I don't advise you to marry St. John."

"Oh!"

"Are you engaged to him?" he asked, coming closer.

"I am not."

"I am glad to hear it."

"Are you married, Cousin Harry?" she asked suddenly.

"Me? No, Marion--not yet."

"I suppose you'll marry some Yankee girl one of these days."

"I don't think so, unless----"

"Unless what?"

"Unless the girl I always did love goes back on me, Marion. Do you think
she will go back on me?" and he caught both of her hands in his own.

"Harry, you are a--a--Yankee."

"But that doesn't affect my feelings for you."

"A true Yankee ought not to care for a Southern girl."

"And why not?"

"Well, I don't know exactly. But it doesn't seem right."

"Do you mean to say that a Southern girl ought not to care for the man
who is fighting as his conscience dictates?" he demanded, turning a
trifle pale.

"No, no, Harry! I honor you for sticking to you