She broke into a laugh in spite of an effort at self-control when they had reached the sidewalk. He blushed and looked puzzled. “Why do you laugh?” he asked in hurt surprise. “Oh, nothing--” “You couldn’t have laughed at the little confession I just made to you--” She laid her hand on his arm in gentle quick protest. “You know I could not. It was too sincere. It was from the depths of your inmost heart. And I see you and all your people who have come to our shores in the past generation through new eyes after this revelation you have given me--no, I was laughing at something miles removed--” Again she paused and laughed. “Tell me”--he pleaded. “Come in first--we can’t stand here on the sidewalk like two spooning children--this is our house--” CHAPTER VII With light step Virginia mounted the low stone stoop, fumbled for her keys, unlocked the massive door and ushered John Vassar into the dimly lighted hall. “Come right into the sitting-room in the rear and meet my father and mother,” she cried, placing her little turban hat on the rack beside his, man-fashion. Vassar smiled at the assumption of equal rights the act implied. She caught the smile and answered with a toss of her pretty head as he followed her through the hall. The older folks were bending over a table deeply absorbed in a game of checkers. The picture caught Vassar’s fancy and held him in the doorway, a pleasant smile lighting his dark strong face. “Mother,” Virginia began softly, “it’s time for children to quit their games. I want you to meet Mr. John Vassar whom I’m trying to dragoon into our cause--” The prim aristocratic little woman rose with dignity and extended her hand in a gesture that spoke the inheritance of gentle breeding. She was a native of Columbia, South Carolina. Her stock joke of self-pity was the fact that she had married a Sherman Bummer who had helped to burn her native city. She excused him always with the apology that he was so young he was really not responsible for the bad company in which she found him. As a matter of fact he had driven a gang of drunken marauders from their house and defended them single handed through a night of terror until order had been restored. It was ten years later before he succeeded in persuading the fair young rebel to surrender. “Delighted to meet you, I’m sure,” Mrs. Holland said quietly. “You must be a Southerner, with that tall dark look of distinction--” Vassar bowed low over her hand. “I wish I were, madam--if the fact would win your approval--” “To look like a Southerner is enough to win Mother on sight,” Virginia laughed. The father extended his hand in a cordial greeting without rising. “Excuse me, young man, for not getting up,” he said. “I’m lame with the gout. You’re a suffragette?” Vassar looked at Virginia, smiled and promptly answered. “I’ll have to confess that I’m not--” Holland extended his hand again.