"Excuse me, but I cannot shake hands with one who wears that uniform," returned the spendthrift, drawing back. "I am surprised, Marion, to see you upon such intimate terms with your country's foe." Marion's face flushed, and she bit her lip. Harry Powell set his teeth and then smiled coldly. "I perceive you wear no uniform at all, St. John," he remarked pointedly. "No. My duty to my mother keeps me at home," stammered St. John. "If all who have mothers were to remain at home we would have few soldiers." "It is a very great trial to me to have to remain at home," went on the hypocrite smoothly. "Yet, to my notion, a man is far better off at home than to be wearing a Yankee uniform." "That is for each man to decide for himself." St. John turned to Marion. "Does your mother know that Dr. Powell is here?" "Yes; she has invited him to dine with us." "To dine with you!" exclaimed the spendthrift. "Yes, what is wrong about that?" questioned Harry Powell. "I thought she was a true and loyal Southern woman." "I do not follow you," answered Harry Powell hotly. "The ties of blood count for something, even in war times." "They do not count for as much as that--to me," said St. John sourly. "Then I presume you will not care to stop and dine with us, St. John," put in Marion. "Thank you, no. I will remain another time--when it is more agreeable, Marion." So speaking, St. John bowed low to the girl, nodded slightly to the young surgeon, and hurried from the place. Marion looked at Harry Powell with a face that was crimson. "Forget the insult, Harry!" she cried. "It is not your fault, Marion. But what a cad St. John is! I never liked him much. I can easily understand how Jack cannot get along with him." "I wish he would join the army. It might make a man of him." "I believe he is too cowardly to don a uniform. But come, let us go into the house, or your mother will wonder what is keeping us." When they entered the homestead they found Colonel Stanton taking his leave. The colonel was perfectly willing to allow the young surgeon to remain. "Have a good time, Powell," he said. "And try to convince your worthy relatives that all Yankees are not the monsters they are painted." "He's a downright good fellow!" cried Jack, when the Federal officer had departed. "I don't wonder that you like him, Harry." "He is a very nice man," said Marion, and to this Mrs. Ruthven nodded affirmatively. Dinner was almost ready to be served, and while they were waiting Marion noticed that the young surgeon was studying Jack's face closely. "What makes you look at Jack so?" she questioned, in a low voice, so that our hero might not hear. "I was studying his face," was the slow reply. "Studying his face?" "Yes. Marion, did you notice how Colonel Stanton looks?" "I did, although not very closely." "It seems to me that Jack bears a wonderful resemblance to the colonel."