One afternoon he rode up to Dr. Cary’s a little earlier than usual, and, finding the family absent, turned his horse out in the yard and lounged on the porch, awaiting their arrival. He had not been there long when Mammy Krenda appeared. Steve watched her for a moment with amusement. He knew she had come out to talk to him. “What are you prowling about here for, you old Ku Klux witch, you?” he asked, with a twinkle in his eye. Mammy Krenda gave a sniff. “Ku Klux! Ku Klux!! If prowlin’ mecks Ku Klux, I wonder what you wuz doin’ last night? An’ what you doin’ now?” “Jerry’s been around, the drunken rascal!” thought Steve to himself. He knew Jerry was courting a granddaughter of old Krenda’s. “How’s Jerry coming on with his courting?” he asked, irrelevantly. “N’em mind about Jerry,” said the old mammy. “Jerry know mo’ ’bout co’tin’ than some other folks.” This was interesting, and Steve, seeing that she had something on her mind, gave her a lead. He learned that the old woman thought her “chile” was not well—that she was “pesterin’ herself mightily” about something, and, what was more astonishing, that Mammy Krenda held that he himself was in a measure responsible for it. A little deft handling and a delicate cross-examination soon satisfied Steve that Jacquelin stood no chance. He hinted as to Middleton. Mammy Krenda threw up her head. “She ain’ gwine marry no Yankee come pokin’ in folks’ kitchen.” That disposed of it so far as Middleton was concerned. “How about McRaffle? He’s always hanging around?” laughed Steve. Krenda gave a sniff and started on. “Dat man what been in a coffin! Jes’ soon marry a lizard! You know she ain’ go’ marry dat man! She wouldn’ look at him!” “Well, who is it?” demanded Steve. The old woman turned and faced him; gave him a penetrating glance, and, with a toss of her turbaned-head, walked into the house. Steve sat on the porch for some time in deep reflection, and then rising, walked across the grass, saddled his horse and rode quietly away. All the past came before him and all the present too. Could it be possible that he had been the cause of Middleton’s repulse and of Jacquelin’s failure? It had never occurred to him. Yet, this was undoubtedly the old mammy’s theory. She had as good as told him that he was the cause of Blair’s disquietude, and in the light of her revelation it all seemed reasonable enough. This was the secret of her attitude toward Jacquelin. If she cared for him, it was his duty to marry her. And where could he ever find her superior? Who was so good and fine? Such were his reflections.