Supper passed pleasantly enough. Julian was resolved to reinstall himself in Holly’s good graces, even if it entailed being polite to the Northerner. Holly was in good spirits, while Winthrop yielded to an excitement at once pleasant and perturbing. Now that he had fully decided to return North he found himself quite eager to go; he wondered how he could have been content to remain in idleness so long. Miss India was the same as always, charming in her simple dignity, gravely responsive to the laughter of the others, presiding behind the teapot with the appropriate daintiness of a Chelsea statuette. Winthrop said nothing of his intended departure to-morrow noon; he would not give Julian that satisfaction. After Julian had gone he would inform Holly. They must be alone when he told her. He didn’t ask himself why. He only knew that the blood was racing in his veins to-night, that the air seemed tinged with an electrical quality that brought pleasant thrills to his heart, and that it was his last evening at Waynewood. One may be pardoned something on one’s last evening. Contrary to his custom, and to all the laws of Cupid’s Court, Winthrop joined Julian and Holly on the porch after supper. He did his best to make himself agreeable and flattered himself that Holly, at least, did not resent his presence. After his first fit of resentment at the other’s intrusion Julian, too, thawed out and, recollecting his rôle, was fairly agreeable to Winthrop. A silver moon floated above the house and flooded the world with light. The white walls shone like snow, and the shadows were intensely black and abrupt. No air stirred the sleeping leaves, and the night was thrillingly silent, save when a Whippoorwill sang plaintively in the grove. At nine Julian arose to take his leave. White Queen had been brought around by Uncle Ran and was pawing the earth restively beside the hitching-post outside the gate at the end of the house. Doubtless Julian expected that Winthrop would allow him to bid Holly good-night unmolested. But if so he reckoned without the spirit of recklessness which controlled the Northerner to-night. Winthrop arose with the others and accompanied them along the path to the gate, returning Julian’s resentful glare with a look of smiling insouciance. Julian unhitched White Queen and a moment of awkward silence followed. Holly, dimly aware of the antagonism, glanced apprehensively from Julian to Winthrop. “That’s a fine horse you have there,” said Winthrop, at last. “Do you think so?” answered Julian, with a thinly-veiled sneer. “You know something about horses, perhaps?” “Not much,” replied Winthrop, with a good-natured laugh. “I used to ride when I was at college.” “Perhaps you’d like to try her?” suggested Julian. “Thanks, no.” “I reckon you had better not,” Julian drawled. “A horse generally knows when you’re afraid of her.”