"You mustn't get rough, Harry. St. John says there are no true gentlemen among the Yankees. But I think differently--now I have met Colonel Stanton." "Oh, confound St. John! There are truer gentlemen among my fellow officers than he will ever be." Harry Powell took a turn around the summerhouse. "But I forgot. I ought not to have spoken so of your future husband." "Who said he was my intended husband?" "Why, you intimated as much." "I am sure I did not." "It is the same thing. You said he had spoken of marriage to you." "That is a very different matter." Harry Powell took another turn around the summerhouse. "I suppose you love him, though I don't understand how any girl could love such an insufferable bore." "Harry, aren't you prejudiced against St. John?" "Perhaps I am. But seriously, Marion, what can you find to admire in St. John?" "He is a Ruthven." "That is true." "If I married him I would still remain a Ruthven." "Then why not remain an old maid and likewise a Ruthven? It would be far better, take my word on it." "Then you don't advise me to marry?" "I don't advise you to marry St. John." "Oh!" "Are you engaged to him?" he asked, coming closer. "I am not." "I am glad to hear it." "Are you married, Cousin Harry?" she asked suddenly. "Me? No, Marion--not yet." "I suppose you'll marry some Yankee girl one of these days." "I don't think so, unless----" "Unless what?" "Unless the girl I always did love goes back on me, Marion. Do you think she will go back on me?" and he caught both of her hands in his own. "Harry, you are a--a--Yankee." "But that doesn't affect my feelings for you." "A true Yankee ought not to care for a Southern girl." "And why not?" "Well, I don't know exactly. But it doesn't seem right." "Do you mean to say that a Southern girl ought not to care for the man who is fighting as his conscience dictates?" he demanded, turning a trifle pale. "No, no, Harry! I honor you for sticking to your principles. But we had better say no more at present on this subject." She glanced down the garden path. "See, St. John is coming. Let go my hands." He dropped her hands and took a seat on the other side of the summerhouse, and a moment later St. John Ruthven presented himself at the doorway. CHAPTER XVIII. MEETING OF THE COUSINS. St. John had come up the garden path quickly, and had failed to notice Harry Powell, although he had caught sight of a well-known dress which Marion wore. Now, when he saw the young surgeon, his face fell, for he had calculated upon seeing Marion alone. "Excuse me, Marion," he said, "I did not know you had company." "Come in, St. John," replied the girl. "Do you not recognize my visitor? It is Dr. Harry Powell." "Oh!" St. John was much surprised, and showed it. "How do you do?" he continued stiffly. "Shake hands. You are cousins," went on Marion, not liking the dark look which had come to St. John's face.