Aunt Nannie being away at the coast, it was easier for the girl to avoid social engagements, especially with the excuse that her father’s health was poor, and his plantation duties engrossing. There had been an overflow in the early spring, just at planting-time, and so there was no cotton that year. Fences had been swept away, cattle drowned, and negro-cabins borne off to parts unknown. The Major had three large plantations, whose negroes must be kept over the year, just as if they were working. Also there were small farms, rented to negro tenants who had lost everything; they had to be taken care of—one must “hold on to one’s niggers.” “Why don’t you let them raise corn?” van Tuiver had inquired; to which the Major answered, “My negroes could no more raise corn than they could raise ostriches.” So there was much money to be borrowed, and money was “tight.” Everybody wanted it from the local banks, and as this was the second bad year, the local banks were in an ungenerous mood. Worse than that, there were troubles vaguely rumored from “Wall Street.” What this meant to Sylvia was that her father sat up at night and worried over his books, and could not be got to talk of his affairs. But what distressed her most was that there was no sign of any effort to curtail the family’s expenditure. Aunt Varina and the children were at the summer home in the mountains, and so there were two establishments to be kept going. Also Celeste was giving house parties, and ordering new things from New York, in spite of the fact that she had come home from school with several trunkloads of splendor. The Major’s family all signed his name to checks, and all these checks were like chickens which came home to roost in the pigeon-holes in the office-desk. In the fall the Major’s health weakened under the strain, and the doctor insisted that he must go away at all hazards. Uncle Mandeville had taken a place at one of the Gulf Coast resorts, and Sylvia and her father were urged to come there—just in time for the yachting regatta, wrote the host. They came; and about two weeks later a great ocean-going yacht steamed majestically into the harbor, and the dismayed Sylvia read in the next morning’s paper that Mr. Douglas van Tuiver, who had been cruising in the Gulf with a party of friends, had come to attend the races! “I won’t see him!” she declared; and Uncle Mandeville, who was in command here, backed her up, and offered to shoot the fellow if he molested her. This, of course, was in fun, but Uncle Mandeville was serious in his support of his niece, maintaining that the Castlemans needed no Yankee princeling to buttress their fortunes. She fully meant not to see him. But he had brought allies to make sure of her. That afternoon an automobile drew up at the door, and Sylvia, who was on the gallery, saw a lady descending, waving a hand to her. She stared, dumb-founded. It was Mrs. Winthrop!