He broke off under the disconcerting fire of Ajax's eye. "Oh--one o' them thar _di_-vo'ces, you mean?" the old man said, strong distaste giving an edge to his deep voice. "Well, they ain't a-goin' to be none sech between Lance and Callisty," Octavia protested indignantly. "If that's what you' hangin' around for, you'll [304] have yo' trouble for yo' pains, Flenton Hands." She got up sharply, went into the house, and shut the door, leaving the two men together. Yet when she reviewed her daughter's conduct, her mind, ever alert to the interests of the erring Lance, misgave her. Callista seemed hard enough and cold enough for anything. Octavia heard the two masculine voices, questioning, replying, arguing. She had put herself beyond understanding the words they uttered, but presently feminine curiosity overcame her, and she was stealing back to listen, when, through the small window, she saw Flenton Hands get heavily to his feet. A moment he stood so, looking down, then, her head close to the sash, she heard him ask, "I've got yo' permission, have I, Mr. Gentry, to go over thar and name this all out to Callisty?" "I don't know as you've got my permission, and I don't forbid ye," Ajax Gentry said haughtily. "I hold with lettin' every feller go to destruction his own way. He gits thar sooner; and that's whar most of 'em ort to be." "Well, you don't say I shain't go and speak to her of it," Hands persisted. "I'm a honest man, a perfesser and a church member, and what I do is did open and above-boards. I thank ye kindly for yo' good word." Old Ajax, who certainly had given no good word, merely grunted as Hands made his way swiftly across the grass to the cabin where the loom stood. [305] "Don't werry, Octavy," he said, not unkindly, as his daughter-in-law's distressed face showed at the window. "Shorely Sis has got the sense to settle him." Callista, hard at work, was aware of her visitor by the darkening of the doorway. She looked up and frowned slightly, but gave no other sign of noting his coming. The baby sat on the floor, playing gravely with a feather which stuck first to one plump little finger end and then another. Had Flenton Hands possessed tact, he might have made an oblique opening toward the mother through the child. As it was, he began in a choked, husky voice, "Callisty, honey--" He broke off. The concluding word was said so low that Callista could pretend not to have heard it, and she did so. "Callisty," he repeated, coming in and leaning tremulously forward on the loom, "I want to have speech with you." "I'm not saying anything against your speakin', am I?" inquired Callista. "But I'm right busy now, Flenton. It isn't likely that you could have anything important to say to me, and I reckon it'll keep."