He pointed to a great white house set in a grove of trees. “That is Beechwood,” he told her, “the Beverley homestead. Young Beverley was the Knight of the Silver Cross. A fine old place, isn’t it? It was burned by the Indians during the French and Indian War. My great-great-great-grandfather—” He broke off. “But then, those old things won’t interest you.” “They interest you a great deal, don’t they?” she asked. “Yes,” he admitted, “they do. You see, my ancestors are such new acquaintances, I find them absorbing. You know when I lived in New York—” “Last month.” He laughed a little—not quite the laugh she had known in the past. “Yes, but I can hardly believe [Pg 305]it; I seem to have been here half a lifetime. To think that a month ago I was a double-dyed New Yorker.” “It’s been a strange experience for you. Don’t you feel rather Jekyl-and-Hydish?” “That’s a terrible compound!” he laughed, as he swept the car round a curve, skilfully evading a bumping wagon-load of farm-hands. “In which capacity am I Mr. Hyde, by the way?” She smiled at him round the edge of her blown veil. “Figures of speech aren’t to be analyzed. You are Dr. Jekyl in New York, anyway. You read what the papers said? No? It’s just as well; it would have been likely to turn your head.” “Could anything be as likely to do that as—this?” With a glance he indicated her presence beside him. She made him a mocking bow. “Be careful,” she warned. “Speeches like that smack of disloyalty to your queen. What a pretty girl she is! I congratulated you on your prowess. I must add my congratulations on your taste.” He returned her bow of a moment since. “It was all a most unique thing,” she went on. “And to-night at your ball I shall witness the coronation. I can hardly wait to see Damory Court. Do you know, in all these years I never suspected what a versatile genius you were? It’s too wonderful [Pg 306]how you have stepped into this life—into the people’s thoughts and feelings—as you have. When you come back to New York—” He looked at her, oddly she thought. “Why should I go back?” “Why? Because it’s your natural habitat. Isn’t it?” “That’s the word,” he said smiling. “It was my habitat. This is my home.” She was silent a moment in sheer surprise. She had thought of this Southern essay as a quickly passing incident, a colorful chapter whose page might any day be turned. But it was impossible to mistake his meaning. Clearly, he was deeply infatuated with this Arcadian experience and had no thought at present but to continue it indefinitely.