“I am not sure that Colonel Price is right,” the girl said. “I’ve heard something of that kind before. I think Colonel Price had an article in one of the Atlanta papers about it, with a list of old family names. My father knows little or nothing about his ancestry, but my grandmother has always said her forefathers were wealthy people. She remembers her grandmother as being a fine old lady, who, poor as she was, tried to make her and the other children wear their bonnets and gloves in the sun to keep their complexions white. But I don’t like to discuss that sort of thing, Mr. Hillhouse. It won’t do in America. I think we are what we make ourselves, not what others made of themselves. One is individuality, the other imitation.” The young man laughed. “That’s all very fine,” he said, “when it was your forefathers who made it possible for you to have the mental capacity for the very opinion you have expressed. At any rate, there is a little comfort in your view, for if you were to pride yourself on Price’s theories, as many a woman would, you would look higher than a poor preacher with such an untraceable name as mine. And you know, ordinary as it is, you have simply got to wear it sooner or later.” “You must not mention that again,” Cynthia said firmly. “I tell you, I am not good enough for a minister’s wife. There is a streak of worldliness in me that I shall never overcome.” “That cuts me like a knife,” said Hillhouse. “It cuts because it reminds me of something I once heard Pole Baker say in a group at the post-office. He said that women simply do not like what is known as a ‘goody-goody’ man. Sometimes as coarse a man as Pole hits the nail of truth on the head, while a better educated man would miss and mash his thumb. But if I am in the pulpit, I’m only human. It seemed to me the other day when I saw you and Nelson Floyd driving along up the mountain that the very fires of hell itself raged inside of me. I always hold family prayer at home for the benefit of my mother and sister, but that night I cut it out and lay on the bed rolling and tossing like a crazy man. He’s handsome, Miss Cynthia, and he has a soft voice and a way of making all women sympathize with him—why they do it I don’t know. It’s true he’s had a most miserable childhood, but he is making money hand over hand now and has everything in his favor.” “He’s not a happy man, Mr. Hillhouse, in spite of his success. Anyone who knows him can see that.” “Oh, I suppose he broods over the mystery that hangs over his childhood,” said the preacher. “That’s only natural for an ambitious man. I once knew a fellow like that, and he told me he never intended to get married on that account. He was morbidly sensitive about it, but it is different with Floyd. He does know his name, and he will, no doubt, discover his relatives some day. But it hurts me to see you with him so much.” “Why, he goes with other girls,” Cynthia said, her lips set together tightly, her face averted.