Margaret heard him deliver himself of these affable observations with intense indignation. “Cousin Margaret” indeed! Did he presume to suppose for an instant, that he could atone for the indignity he had offered her, and the positive pain he had caused her, by a few careless words of flattery and a caressing tone of voice? “I shouldn’t have cared to go with them in the least,” she answered coldly. “I am used to quiet. Cousin Eugenia said you had an engagement.” “So I have; but that can be postponed, as also, I suppose, may be your meditations,” answered Louis, feeling a keener zest in the accomplishment of this reconciliation with Margaret since he saw it was likely to cost him some pains. “Suppose now you and I run off to the theatre. There’s a pretty little play on the boards, and we’ll take our chances for a seat.” “Thank you, I don’t care to go out this evening,” responded Margaret, in the same voice. There was a moment’s silence, which might have lasted longer, but for some symptoms of flight on the part of Miss Trevennon, which the young man saw and determined to thwart. “I am afraid,” he began, speaking with some hesitation, “that I was so unfortunate as to offend you in some way last night, when your edifying visitor was here----” “Please don’t refer to that episode, unless you mean to apologize for what you did,” Margaret interrupted him, with an inflection of controlled indignation. “Your laughing at him now does not mend matters.” The young man’s whole expression changed. This was really a little too much. “Apologize!” he said quickly, a dark frown gathering. “You are under some remarkable delusion, Miss Trevennon, if you think I acknowledge it to be a case for an apology. It was a most presumptuous intrusion, and as such I was compelled to resent it, on your account as well as my own.” “Don’t let me be considered in the matter, I beg,” said Margaret, with a little touch of scorn. “I wish no such deed as that to be done in my name.” “May I ask,” said Gaston, in a keen, distinct voice, “whether your championship of this gentleman is due to an admiration and endorsement of his manner and conduct, or to the more comprehensive fact of his being a Southerner? You Southerners are very clannish, I’ve been told.” Margaret had always held herself to be superior to sectional prejudices, but there was something in his manner, as he said this, that infuriated her. “We Southerners,” she answered, feeling a thrill of pride in identifying herself with the race that, by his looks and tones, he was so scornfully contemning, “are not only a clannish people, but also a courteous one, and the very last and least of our number is incapable of forgetting the sacred law of hospitality to a guest.” Undoubtedly Miss Trevennon had forgotten herself, but it was only for a moment. She had said more than she meant to say, and she checked herself with an effort, and added hastily: