She leaned back in her corner of the carriage, blushing but resentful, a line between her brows. “It wouldn’t be any use,” she said. “I--I couldn’t make him feel welcome there.” “You mean that Cousin Jacob would insult him,” Dr. Cheyney said bluntly. She stiffened. “I should protect my own guests,” she retorted hotly. “Could you?” asked the doctor dryly. Diana met his eyes indignantly; then a throb of pain in her ankle made her wince. “I reckon it does hurt, Di.” The old man smiled compassionately. “I’ll bandage it when we get you home. Don’t be capering off your horse again in thunder-storms.” “I’d be sure to break my neck next time, I suppose,” she said ruefully. “Let it be a leg, Di,” advised the doctor, “that would give me a job; the other would all go to the undertaker. He told me once,” he added, with a twinkle, “that we worked so much together we ought to have a common interest. I believe he wanted to found a trust--‘doctors’ and undertakers’ amalgamated protected’--or something of that sort. I begged off on the ground of injury to my profession. I told him it wouldn’t do for a poor man like me to go into a trust with a rich planter.” “Dr. Cheyney,” Diana interrupted, “I don’t want you to think that Jacob Eaton rules our house; he has more influence with father than I wish he had, but he can’t rule father.” “I suppose you’ll marry him in the end,” William Cheyney remarked reflectively. Diana, leaning back in her corner, looked thoughtful. “No,” she said slowly, “I don’t believe I will.” The doctor slapped Henk again with his loose rein. “Why not?” he asked dispassionately. She thought a moment, a gleam of mischief deepening in her glance. “For one thing, his eyes are too near together,” she said at last. “There’s no telling but what you could get them spaced better,” he replied, twinkling; “science is advancing, and so is wireless telegraphy.” Diana laughed. “Some one will like them as they are,” she said, “and Jacob thinks them handsome.” “Sleek young cub!” said the doctor, turning in at the gate that led to the old white house with its two wings and its belvedere. “I’d like you to marry a real man, Di.” Diana leaned her head back in the corner and closed her eyes, as the throbbing pain held her breathless again. Then she smiled. “Dr. Cheyney,” she said, “do you remember the time I cried because you wouldn’t give me the pink capsules?” “You were seven,” replied the doctor placidly. “I remember. They would have killed you, but you screamed for them; you raised Cain about them.” “I wanted my own way,” said Diana, “and I want it still. I think I’d better be an old maid.” Old Henk was jogging up the path, and before the doctor could reply a negro stableman came running breathless, and stopped at the sight of Diana. “Fo’ de Lawd, Miss Di!” he said, “I’se glad ter see you. Jerry done come home drenched, an’ we ’se been out searchin’--scared ter tell de col’nel.”