All this was in contravention of Guilford Duncan's carefully laid plans, as a declaration of love is apt to be, so long as women are fascinating and men are human. He had intended to put the thought of his love for Barbara into her unsuspecting mind by ingenious "trick and device." It had been his plan presently to escort her to church, to the concerts that now and then held forth at the Athenæum, to Mrs. Hallam's for a game of croquet, to Mrs. Galagher's for the little dances that that gracious gentlewoman gave now and then, even in the heat of a southern Illinois summer. He had even chartered a steamboat, and planned to give a picnic in the Kentucky woodlands below Cairo, to which he should escort Barbara. He had thought in these ways to set the tongues of all the gossips wagging, and thus to force upon Barbara the thought of his love for her. All was now spoiled, as he thought, when he so precipitately declared his love there in the vine-clad porch. Barbara was obviously surprised. Duncan could not quite make out whether she was shocked or not, whether his declaration of love pleased or distressed her. For she made no answer whatever. Instead she nervously plucked honeysuckles and still more nervously let them fall from her hands. Duncan was standing now, and in torture lest he had spoiled all by his precipitancy. He waited, as patiently as he could, for the girl's answer, but it came not. Her silence seemed ominous to him. It seemed to mean that she was shocked and offended by a declaration of love, for which he had not in any wise prepared her. But Duncan was a man of action. It was not his habit to accept defeat without challenging it and demanding its reasons. So presently he advanced, passed his arm around Barbara's waist, and gently caressed her forehead, as a father or an older brother might have done. She accepted the caress in that spirit, seemingly, and then she turned toward the hall door, saying: "Good-night!" But Duncan was not to be so baffled. He had blundered upon a declaration of love--as most men do who really love--and he did not intend to go away without his answer. "Don't say 'good-night' yet," he pleaded, again passing his arm around her waist. "Tell me first, is it yes or no? Will you be my wife?" The girl turned and faced him. There was that in her eyes which he had never seen there before, and which he could not interpret. At last her lips parted, and she said: "I cannot tell, yet. You must wait." And with that she slipped through the door, leaving him no recourse but to take his leave without other formality than the closing of the front gate. XXIII CAPTAIN WILL HALLAM IN THE GAME The next morning, very early, Guilford Duncan's negro servant--for he kept one now--brought him a note from Barbara. It read in this wise: I wish you would take your meals at the hotel for a few days, or a week or two--till you hear from me again.