As Juliette passed in among them with a hamper of cake, a respectful silence fell. Never had they seen such a beautiful being as she. They were backwoodsmen, and she from another land. At first they stood back. Their roughness and coarseness was only skin deep—in their hearts was chivalry. At last one reached out his hand to help himself under the tactful smile and reassuring nod of invitation and the tie was broken by a loud banter at his elbow: “Stop right thar, Bill; you can’t reach out an’ take poun’ cake from an angel an’ me not be in it!” In the roar of this sally they all thronged round her to get some of that cake from an angel. She was passing around among them when someone seized her by the shoulder and brought her about face with: “Come, fair waitress; forget not your humbler friends.” And she stood facing Trevellian and General Jackson, who had thus called her. Her heart pounded, the color, despite her efforts at calmness, left her cheeks; her knees trembled and she almost dropped the waiter in his hands. She saw his agitated but reserved bearing, his hand going up nervously to his hat, and in her confusion she pushed forward her cake: “Please have some.” “I thank you, madam,” he replied as indifferently as if she were an unknown person to him and he reached out to take it from the tray. But two slices were uncut, and in her effort to help him her hand touched his and she felt the hot blood surge in her cheeks. Looking up she met his eyes, resigned, sad, but hotly determined in the old flash that dared all, hoped all and was afraid of nothing. She read a thousand things in that brief look, while her own heart all but burst within her and her knees trembled in feminine weakness. And that which she read above all else was that he had put her out of his life. Indignant—hurt—crushed by the look, her pride stirred to madness with herself and the world, with fierce hatred of herself that she should care at all, she pushed madly into the crowd and away. Then she heard the General calling her impatiently: “Juliette, Juliette, my dear, you have forgotten me.” In shame and confusion she turned again, though she felt that she should die if she looked again into Trevellian’s face. And then she almost fell when she did see. She stiffened frigidly and hot, cruel anger swept over her as her flashing eyes fell on William Trevellian. The boy had ridden up as she turned to go away. And now, on the small, sinewy pony, which she remembered too well, he sat his horse just behind General Jackson, looking at her with eyes that spoke as much admiration as any old soldier in the group. General Jackson himself had forgotten her as he turned in laughing enthusiasm to the boy and his pony. Grasping him by the shoulder, he cried: “Why, little Ireland, you game little devil, how came you here? And Paddy Whack—ha—ha!”