"Not altogether. He had a daughter--Margaret. She was the most beautiful woman in the world...." I suspect my voice broke a little just there, for there was a shade of respectful sympathy in the monosyllable with which he filled the pause. "He swore she should never marry a Northerner, but she did; I guess, being a Bohun, she had to, after hearing she must not. There were two of us that loved her, but she chose Sam Graham...." "Why," he said awkwardly--"I'm sorry." "I'm not: she was right, if I couldn't see it that way. They ran away-- and so did I. I went East, but they came back to Radville. Colonel Bohun never forgave them, but they were very happy till she died. Betty's their daughter, of course: Sam's not the kind that marries more than once." Duncan thought this over without comment until we reached our gate. There he paused for a moment. "He's got plenty of money, I presume--old Bohun?" "So they say. Probably not much now, but a great deal more than he needs." "Then why doesn't somebody get after the old scoundrel and make him do something for that poor--for Miss Graham?" he asked indignantly. "He tried it once, but they wouldn't listen. His conditions were impossible," I explained. "She was to renounce her father and take the name of Bohun------." "What rot!" Duncan growled. "What an old fiend he must be! Of course he knew she'd refuse." "I suspect he did." Duncan hesitated a bit longer. "Anyhow," he said suddenly, "somebody ought to get after him and make him see the thing the right way." "S'pose you try it, Mr. Duncan?" I suggested maliciously, as we went up the walk. He stopped at the door. "Perhaps I shall," he said slowly. "I'd advise you not to. The last man that tried it has no desire to repeat the experiment." "Who was he?" "An old fool named Homer Littlejohn." Duncan put out his hand. "Shake!" he insisted. "We'll talk this over another time." We went in very quietly, lit our candles, and with elaborate care avoided the home-made burglar-alarm (a complicated arrangement of strings and tinpans on the staircase, which Miss Carpenter insists on maintaining ever since Roland Barnette missed a dollar bill and insisted his pocket had been picked on Main Street) and so mounted to our rooms. As we were entering (our doors adjoin) a thought delayed my good-night. "By the way, did you get your invitation to Josie Lockwood's party, Mr. Duncan? I happened to see it on the hall table this evening." "Yes," he assented quietly. "It's to be the social event of the year. I hope you'll enjoy it." "I'm not going." "Not going!... Why not?" "It's against the rules at first--I mean, business rules. I'll be so busy at the store, you know." "Josie'll be disappointed." "Thank you," said he gratefully. "Good-night." Alone, I was fain to confess he baffled my understanding.