Sybert glanced lazily across the room at the bell. ‘Oh, sit still. We have light enough to talk by, and you surely aren’t intending to read when you have a guest.’ He stretched out his hand and took possession of her book. ‘I don’t flatter myself that you stayed away from the contessa’s to talk to me,’ she returned as she leaned back again with a slight shrug. ‘Why else should I have stayed?’ he inquired. ‘Do you think, when it came to the point, your uncle wouldn’t give me a coat?’ ‘Probably you found that it didn’t fit.’ Sybert laughed. ‘No, Miss Marcia; I didn’t even try. I stayed because—I wanted to talk with you.’ She let the statement pass in silence, and Sybert addressed himself to a careful rearrangement of the burning wood. When he finally laid down the tongs he remarked in a casual tone, ‘I owe you an apology—will you accept it?’ ‘What for?’ ‘You appear to have several counts against me—suppose we don’t go into details. I offer a collective apology.’ ‘Because you called me “the Wheat Princess”? Oh, yes, I’ll excuse it; I dare say you were justified.’ He leaned forward with a slight frown. ‘Certainly I was not justified; it was neither kind nor gentlemanly, and I am sorry that I said it. I can only promise to have better manners in the future.’ Marcia dismissed the subject with a gesture. ‘Let me tell you about the good your money has done.’ ‘No, please don’t! I don’t want to hear. I know that it’s horrible, and that you did the best with it possible. I’m glad if it helped. My father is sending some wheat that will be here in a few weeks.’ ‘Miss Marcia,’ he said slowly, ‘I wish you wouldn’t take this matter so badly. Your uncle was out of his senses when he talked to you, and he didn’t realize what he was saying. He feels awfully cut up about it. He told me to-night that he was afraid he had spoiled your summer, and that he wouldn’t have hurt you for the world.’ Marcia’s eyes suddenly filled with tears and she bit her lip. Sybert leaned forward and poked the fire.