“I ought,” murmured Mr. Rowantree, who had supped with them, and who sat with them now on the porch, “to be riding home to Constance and the other children. Paralee kindly promised that she would look in on them and help them get a bit of something to eat, but now I really must be getting along. They’ve never been alone before after nightfall.” “You’re going to leave Mrs. Rowantree here then?” asked Aunt Zillah. “Oh, that’s good of you. I don’t believe those two could bear to be separated. I know I couldn’t bear to have them.” “Of course they must stay together,” answered Mr. Rowantree. “Ah, what a brave, bright little creature my Mary Cecily is, Miss Pace! Folks think I don’t appreciate her because I’m a lazy, dreamy fool who hasn’t found out how to take hold of life over here, but perhaps some day I’ll be able to show them that I’m not quite such a useless creature as they think me. I know my faults better than anyone else knows them; and the worst fault of them all is not being properly ashamed of myself. I always was too indifferent to what others thought; but since you came, Miss Pace, with these fine unselfish girls, I—well, I’ve seen myself pretty much as others must see me and I confess I don’t like the picture.” “Oh, Mr. Rowantree,” cried Aunt Zillah, distressed, “I’m sure—” “Don’t trouble yourself to say a single polite thing, ma’am. Leave me the virtue of my repentance. Now, about my little wife’s brother in there; he must come to Rowantree Hall to-morrow morning. Miles McEvoy can drive him over the way he took Panther to the station, lying out on the straw in the wagon box. Keefe’s a fine fellow, no manner of doubt about that. I took to him from the first.” “Have you seen the pictures Keefe has up in Mr. McEvoy’s barn?” asked Aunt Zillah. “It’s a great pleasure and profit to look at them. I’m sure when Mr. and Mrs. Carson see them they’ll be all for having an exhibit of them down at Lee. Many artists come there, as you know, and it’s the habit of the tourists to attend their exhibits. Sometimes they purchase very freely.” “It would be a fine thing for him if something of the sort could be done,” said Mr. Rowantree. “My only fear is that Mary Cecily may have another philandering male for her to care for. That really would be one too many. I declare,” he added humorously, “if it came to that, I think it might drive me to work!” Azalea could not repress a little laugh, but Carin maintained disapproving silence. She liked Mr. Rowantree—nobody could help liking him—but she certainly did not approve of him, and it was not in her to ease off the situation as Azalea could. Azalea had grown up among vagabonds, and if she recognized in the magnificent Rowantree a new variety of the tribe, it only made her tolerant of him.