“Oh, yes, I have ... right here, just after Glen’s father died!” She waited in soft expectancy for his corroboration, and when it did not come she expelled a quick sigh. “Well, I’ve met you now, anyway.” Miss Ada was perturbed. The affair had started so beautifully--_two_ callers for Glen at once, and one of them a _Carey_--and now the young savage had to walk into the scene, like--as her own dear father would have said--a bull in a china shop. If he must be there and some one must talk to him, let it be the Northern girl: Miss Ada interposed herself swiftly between Nancy and the intruder and talked brightly to her kinswoman. Nancy got slowly out of the old armchair. “It’s late,” she said vaguely. “You coming, Janice?” “No, I’ll stay with Glen a while. Thanks for bringing me, old thing! See you to-morrow!” Miss Jennings waved a careless hand. “Glen, my _dear_!” Miss Ada was almost sharp about it. “Nancy’s _going_!” “Oh,” said Glen awkwardly. “I’m sorry....” She simply could not pull her mind out of its deep morass of bewilderment and unhappiness for these small amenities. Miss Ada, to cover her lapses, made a great point of seeing Nancy out, and Luke followed silently. “Luke,” Glen called after him insistently, “you’ll come back to-night?” “Not to-night,” he answered briefly, waiting an instant in brooding silence for Nancy Carey and Miss Ada to pass through the gate. “Which way are you going?” Nancy looked up at him, adding with gentle emphasis, “_I’m_ going up!” “Down,” said the mountaineer curtly. She stared after him as he strode down the hill, her soft under lip thrust out, and again she gave the quick little sigh. “Nancy, honey, you are mighty sweet and kind,” Miss Ada was adoring. “You always want to put _everybody_ at their ease. I’ll just walk a little piece with you,” she added, and again, as on the day of Dr. Darrow’s funeral, she tripped delicately by the side of her young connection, and again, incredibly, the young connection turned the talk, which Miss Ada would have chosen to be about Tenafees, to the mountaineer. “Is Luke Manders still in the mill, Cousin Ada?” “Why, yes; yes, he is still employed there. But you haven’t told me about dear Mary-Lou Tenafee! She’s managing that great plantation all soul alone? My, but she is a remarkable girl, Nancy, my dear! We may well be proud of her. So young, so lovely, widowed so early, yet----” But Nancy Carey was pursuing her own line with soft ruthlessness. “Then, I suppose he’s doing very well, or he wouldn’t have stayed so long?” “He--yes, I--I understand that he has advanced. He is, I believe, a good worker. People like that have great physical endurance, you know, and----” To complete the flash-back of three years, Mr. ’Gene Carey’s daughter made almost the identical remark that she made then, and there was wistfulness in her voice, and soft wonder. “Cousin Ada, I do think he’s the handsomest thing I ever saw in real life....”