From this day Le watched Odalite more closely, and he discovered that, on all occasions when she was in company with Anglesea, she treated him with open contempt, except when her father was present; then indeed she seemed to put constraint upon herself and to treat her betrothed with decent respect. Was this done to avert any suspicions of the real state of her feelings from her father's mind? From this day, also, Le was often absent on errands that took him from the neighborhood and sometimes kept him over night. And when interrogated by his uncle, or any member of the family, as to the business that called him away, he would give evasive answers. But all noticed that Le's spirits were much improved, so that he was more like the ruddy, jubilant Le that he had been in the past, than at any other time since his return home. He walked with a light step, spoke in a brisk tone, sang snatches of sea songs and winked knowingly at the wondering children. Meantime the wedding came on apace. CHAPTER XVII ROSEMARY HEDGE "Oldfield, December 20, 18--. "Sukey: I saw Miss Sibby Bayard's Gad go by the house this morning on the mule, with a bag of wheat before him, taking it to old Killman's mill to be ground, and I know she is going to have hot biscuits for supper out of the new wheat; so I want you to come and bring Rosemary with you, and we will walk over there and take tea with her. You ride Jo, and take the child up behind you, and let the boy walk. Dolly." "Sukey" was Miss Grandiere, a tall, handsome and dignified maiden lady of about forty years of age. She had a shapely head, regular features, fair complexion, blue eyes and brown hair, brushed away from her forehead, and twisted into a roll on the top of her head. She wore a plain, dark, calico gown, made with a short waist, tight sleeves, and long, narrow skirt, and a plain, white, muslin handkerchief around her neck, and pinned firmly across her bosom. She stood upon the rudest sort of porch, built of rough pine boards, and shaded by hop vines, now withered under the wintry air. Yet homely as were her attire and surroundings, it seemed as inappropriate for any one to call the stately Susannah Grandiere "Sukey," as it is for some writers to refer to England's magnificent Elizabeth as "Queen Bess." Beside this dignified dame stood a very dainty, delicate and pathetic-looking little girl of about twelve years of age, who leaned half fondly, half lazily against the lady's side. She was Miss Grandiere's niece, shadow and worshiper. Her name was Rosemary Hedge, and she was the only and orphan child of Miss Grandiere's widowed sister, Mrs. Dorothy Hedge, the writer of the note.