"Well," said Paul, "I hadn't considered the question of marriage at all, but since you've brought the subject up, we may as well discuss it. You say it will be impossible for me to marry this young lady, and you refuse to tell me why. Don't you think I am old enough to be trusted?" "Why, certainly, Paul--of course; but there are some things--" Silas paused, and caught his breath, and then went on. "Honestly, Paul, if I could tell you, I would; I'd be glad to tell you; but this is a matter in which you will have to depend on my judgment. Can't you trust me?" "Just as far as you can trust me, but no farther," was the reply. "I'm not a child. In a few months I'll be of age. But if I were only ten years old, and knew the young lady as well as I know her now, you couldn't turn me against her by insinuations." He rose, shook himself, walked the length of the room and back again, and stood close to his father. "You've already settled the question of marriage. I asked you last night about the report that you intended to act with the radicals, and you refused to give me a direct answer. That means that the report is true. Do you suppose that Eugenia Claiborne, or any other decent woman would marry the son of a scalawag?" he asked with a voice full of passion. "Why, she'd spit in his face, and I wouldn't blame her." The young man went out, leaving Silas sitting at the table. "Lord! I hate to hurt him, but he'd better be dead than to marry that girl." Rhody, who was standing in the entryway leading from the dining-room to the kitchen, and who had overheard every word that passed between father and son, entered the room at this moment, exclaiming: "Well, you des ez well call 'im dead den, kaze marry her he will, an' I don't blame 'im; an' mo'n dat I'll he'p 'im all I can." "You don't know what you are talking about," said Silas, wiping his lips, which were as dry as a bone. "Maybe I does, an' maybe I don't," replied Rhody. "But what I does know, I knows des ez good ez anybody. You say dat boy sha'n't marry de gal; but how come you courtin' de mammy?" "Doing what?" cried Silas, pushing his chair back from the table. "Courtin' de mammy," answered Rhody, in a loud voice. "You wuz dar las' night, an' fer all I know you wuz dar de night befo', an' de night 'fo' dat. You may fool some folks, but you can't fool me." "Courting! Why you blasted idiot! I went to see her on business." Rhody laughed so heartily that few would have detected the mockery in it. "Business! Yasser; it's business, an' mighty funny business. Well, ef you kin git her, you take her. Ef she don't lead you a dance, I ain't name Rhody." "I believe you've lost what little sense you used to have," said Silas with angry contempt. "I notice dat nobody roun' here ain't foun' it," remarked Rhody, retiring to the kitchen with a waiter full of dishes. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN _The Knights of the White Camellia_