the brown hair of this little image was braided
around the head like a coronet; the wistful face was colorless and sad;
in truth, there seemed to be tears in the brown eyes. "I will not cry,"
said Gardis, jumping down from her chair, "but I _do_ look odd; there is
no doubt of that." Then she remembered that she should not have jumped,
on account of the slippers, and looked anxiously down; but the kid still
held its place over the little feet, and, going to the piano, the young
mistress of the manor began playing a gay little love-song, as if to
defy her own sadness. Before it was finished, old Pompey, his every-day
attire made majestic by a large, stiffly starched collar, announced the
guests, and the solemnities began.

Everything moved smoothly, however. Cousin Copeland's conversation was
in its most flowing vein, the simple little dinner was well cooked and
served, Pompey was statuesque, and the two guests agreeable. They
remained at the table some time, according to the old Gardiston custom,
and then, the ends of wax-candles having been lighted in the
drawing-room, coffee was served there in the crocodile cups, and Miss
Duke sang one or two songs. Soon after the officers took leave. Captain
Newell bowed as he said farewell, but Roger Saxton, younger and more
impulsive, extended his hand. Miss Duke made a stately courtesy, with
downcast eyes, as though she had not observed it; but by her heightened
color the elder guest suspected the truth, and smiled inwardly at the
proud little reservation. "The _hand_ of Douglas is his own," he said to
himself.

The dreaded dinner was over, and the girl had judged correctly: the two
visitors had no suspicion of the antiquity of the blue gown.

"Did you ever see such a sweet little picture, from the pink rose in the
hair down to the blue slipper!" said Saxton enthusiastically.

"She looked well," replied Newell; "but as for cordiality--"

"I'll win that yet. I like her all the better for her little ways," said
the lieutenant. "I suppose it is only natural that Southern girls should
cherish bitterness against us; although, of course, _she_ is far too
young to have lost a lover in the war--far too young."

"Which is a comfort," said Newell dryly.

"A great comfort, old man. Don't be bearish, now, but just wait a while
and see."

"Precisely what I intend to do," said Newell.

In the mean time Gardis, in the privacy of her own room, was making a
solemn funeral pyre on the hea