"Unfortunately, J. Percival is no longer my guest"--the Professor spoke a little stiffly. "At present he is visiting your neighbor Mr. Farwell, at Holiday Hill--an old acquaintance, I understand. You have seen nothing of him?" She shook her head. "We do not know Mr. Farwell, and we are rather simple folk to appeal to the literary palate." "Humph!" said the other dubiously. "I should not call Jemima, for instance, exactly a simple person. Look out for him, Kate!" She raised her eyebrows. "You speak as if your famous nephew were a ravening wild wolf, Jim!" "He's worse--He's a--temperamentalist," said the other, grimly. It was not the word he had started to use. CHAPTER XX The old hall of Storm, with its memories of many a wild festivity, had never served as background for a prettier sight than Jemima and Jacqueline Kildare, coming shyly down the steps in their first ball-dresses, followed by a girl in gingham, equally young and pretty, with an anxious proprietary eye upon the hang and set of their fineries. "Don't you hug 'em, please, Miss Kate," warned this girl as they descended. "Tulle musses so easy." There was a long "A-ah!" of delight from the foot of the stairs, where the entire household was assembled, to the youngest pickaninny from the quarters. Jemima, exquisite and fragile as a snow-spirit in her white tulle, descended with the queenly stateliness that seems possible only to very small women; but Jacqueline, pink as a rose, flushed and dewy as if she had just been plucked from the garden, took the final steps with a run and landed in her mother's arms, despite Mag's warning. "Aren't we perfectly grand?" she demanded. "Did you ever see _anything_ as beautiful as us? See my gloves--almost as long as my arms! And my neck doesn't look so awfully bony, does it? There's lots of it, anyway, and it's white." She inflated her chest to full capacity, and looked around the circle for approval. Philip was there, as well as Professor Thorpe, who had come to fetch them in the Ark. Each had boxes in their hands. "O-oh!" cried Jacqueline in delight. "Presents! What have you brought us?" Professor Thorpe's boxes proved to contain flowers, and Philip presented to each of them a charming antique fan. "Why, Reverend! How did you know girls used such things? It must be your French blood cropping out." "I found them among mother's things," he explained, "and I knew she would like you to have them." The girl sobered, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Jemima thanked him quietly, and laid her fan on a table. Philip and Kate exchanged a quick glance of understanding. It was evident that she meant to accept nothing from a Benoix. Young Jemima Kildare was of the stuff that makes the Kentucky blood-feuds possible.