“I know,” Virginia rejoined in a low voice. “I just read it in the newspaper.” The colonel, looking into the bottom of his tumbler, was aware that the bees had got into the honeysuckle. They sounded like a full brass band in his ears. He could not stand it any longer, he looked sideways at Virginia. She was still sitting on the old stone bench, her roses in her lap. She wasn’t looking at him and he could see her profile. It was very pale now, but she still had an adorable nose. It came from her mother’s side; the Denbighs had long ones with a hump, called politely Roman. Her grandfather, watching her intently, saw her slip a ring from her finger and put it into her pocket. As she said nothing, the colonel got his breath. “She’ll want to know, I’ll tell her the rest now,” he thought. “It’s like pulling a tooth--better get it over.” “He’s married a French girl. Only known her three months. He’s bringing her home.” Virginia rose quietly, gathering up her roses. She started to speak, but her lips trembled and she gave it up. She put the roses in the bowl on the colonel’s table and filled the bowl with water. Her hands were quite firm. “I hope she’s nice,” she said at last, in a low voice. The colonel, who had caught her eye, made a rash movement, he was going to take her in his arms. But she straightened herself. “Please d-d-don’t!” she gasped, and ran up the steps into the house. Colonel Denbigh stood, looking after her, his eyes full. Then he smoothed his hair again and put on his hat. Thrusting his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat he walked up and down. “She’s game!” he thought proudly. “By gum, she’s a Denbigh. God bless her!” At this moment Plato emerged from the house with a tray. “It am time fo’ yo’ julep, Col’nel,” he remarked, setting down a glass that showed a green sprig of mint in crushed ice. “Plato,” said the colonel thoughtfully, “what was it you used to tell me about old Colonel Colfax and his daughter?” Plato flicked a little dust off the edge of the table and showed his ivories. “Yo means ’bout Miss Ann an’ dat Mist’ Gibbie?” The colonel nodded, his eyes on the far end of the sunny path to the orchard.