“You don’t think there’s anything in that story about Wash Still?” His tone had a certain fiery contempt in it. “I tell you there isn’t. I’ll stake my salvation on that. An eagle does not mate with a weasel!” “No—I do not believe she would, but how about her mother? You know what she thinks of us, and what they say of her missionary ideas, and Wash Still has been playing assiduously on that string of late. He is visiting all her sick, free—he says. Besides they have not the same ideas that we have about family and so on, and they don’t know the Stills as we do.” “Not pride of family! You don’t know her. She’s one of the proudest people in the United States, of her family. I tell you she could give General Legaie six in the game and beat him. By Jove! I wish one could do the old-fashioned way. I’d just ride up and storm the stronghold and carry her off!” burst out Steve, straightening up and stretching out his arms, half in jest, half in earnest, his eyes flashing and his color rising at the thought. “Now you have to storm the stronghold all the same, without carrying her off,” Jacquelin laughed. “No, I’ll carry her away some day,” asseverated Steve, confidently. “It’s worth all my worthless life and a good deal more too.” “I think if you get into that spirit you may win her; but I’m afraid they’ll hardly recognize you in the rôle of humility. I doubt if they have heard much of you in that character. How are you going about it? You have not seen her since the suit was brought, and I doubt if she will speak to you.” “She will not? I’ll make her. Whether she speaks or not, I’ll win her.” “There goes your robe of humility. You have to win her parents first—for you have to ask their permission.” Steve relapsed into thought for a moment, during which Jacquelin watched him closely. “Do you think that’s necessary?” he asked, doubtfully, as if almost to himself. [Illustration: STEVE STRETCHED, AND, PICKING UP HIS BOOK, DIVED ONCE MORE INTO THE “IDYLLS OF THE KING.”] “I do, under the circumstances—for you; not for Wash Still.” “The gorgon will refuse me——” “Probably—All the same, you have to do it.” Suddenly, with a sigh, Steve came out of his reverie as if he were emerging from a cloud. His countenance cleared up and he spoke with decision. “You are right. I knew you were right all the time. But I did not want to do it. I will, though. I’ll do it if I lose her.” He turned to go out. “When are you going to do it?” “Right now.” In the presence of contest Steve’s face had got back all its fire, his voice all its ring. “I believe you’ll win her,” said Jacquelin. “I know I shall, some day,” said Steve. And a little later Jacquelin heard him in his room, whistling “Bonny Dundee,” and calling to Jerry to saddle his horse.