Virginia was silent. Her eyes fixed themselves on that distant house, that repulsive, sordid-looking house, and she thought of Fanchon--a small, dainty, bewitching creature--dancing that amazing dance at the church musicale. Lucas started the horses. The road turned, and before them a low bridge spanned an exquisite stream. The water purled and dashed over stones and slipped, still clamoring, into a lovely pool where lily-pads floated and low willows dipped their swinging boughs. “Lucas, stop!” cried Virginia. Lucas pulled the horses up so suddenly that one old fellow looked back over his shoulder. “Yes, Miss Jinny?” “Drive back to Quantah’s place, Lucas.” The fat old horses turned obediently. Lucas said nothing. For once he restrained that racial quality which makes the faithful colored servant the intimate adviser and guardian of “his family.” He had a very clear understanding of Miss Jinny’s motives, he knew Miss Jinny. For all that, he felt that this time she could be trusted to go her own way--as long as he was in attendance, to exercise, at the crucial moment, his worldly wisdom. The old wagonette, turning clumsily because of its length, was moving along the broken bit of road which led around the elbow of the wood into the Quantah clearing. The wood was an exquisite place, delicately fringed along its edges with yellow patches of goldenrod and the purplish white mist of asters. Through slender tree-stems Virginia began to see the house more plainly. The side door stood open, and a tall, slatternly woman was feeding chickens, holding an old tin saucepan in the hollow of her arm. As the wagonette appeared she raised her eyes from the fowls long enough to stare, but went on throwing scraps out by the fistful, her hard mouth drawn into forbidding lines. Lucas drew rein and Virginia descended. “Is Mrs. William Carter here?” she asked quietly. Mrs. Quantah emptied the pan and looked around her. “Yes, she is--she’s sick, too.” Virginia’s quick blush mounted. She felt peculiarly helpless. She was not even sure that Fanchon would see her, but she held out her card. “Please ask her to see me--if she can,” she said, in a propitiating tone. Mrs. Quantah wiped her fingers on her apron and took the card. “Come in,” she said harshly, holding open the door. Virginia followed her in. Involuntarily she gathered her white dress about her, the place seemed so dingy and repulsive. They passed through a forlorn hall and entered the kitchen. Sitting in a chair in the middle of the old room, with his back to the stove, was Mr. Samuel Bernstein. Virginia stopped involuntarily, and the woman, pulling out a chair for her, left them abruptly, carrying Virginia’s card in the empty saucepan. Mr. Bernstein rose and bowed. “Miss Denbigh, I think?” he said with elaborate politeness. Virginia smiled. “Mr. Bernstein, I know,” she replied quietly. He offered his chair.